


Jagged Scars

by HouseAu3



Series: The Hale Files [5]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV), The Dresden Files - Jim Butcher
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Dresden Files Fusion, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pre-Slash, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-06
Updated: 2017-04-25
Packaged: 2018-05-05 06:38:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 36,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5365133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HouseAu3/pseuds/HouseAu3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek finds a wounded wolf at his door. Scott makes a new friend. Lydia decides to help a ghost. With new threats coming into town and old scars revealed, Stiles really doesn't have time to deal with his <i>feelings.</i></p>
<p> </p>
<p>The second main story of the The Hale Files. A Teen Wolf story set in Dresden verse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Wolf

**Author's Note:**

> I probably should have waited until I've written more before I stat posting, since I'm a really, really slow writer. But I keep rewriting everything and at this rate I'll never finish this story. I don't have much time to write now, and I'll have even less time to write in the future, but I don't want to give up on this series. So, I decided to start posting now and stops worrying about everything so much.  
> I have no idea how long it'd take me to finish this part of the series, and I'm not sure I can manage to update regularly. Sorry about that. I'll try to write as much as possible in the time I have.

The whimper of a wounded animal jerks Derek out of his sleep. He picks up his gun from the nightstand and walks upstairs. The sound is coming from the other side of the back door. Derek curls his finger around the trigger and slowly opens the door. The wolf lying on the ground lifts its head weakly, brown eyes staring up at him. Derek puts the gun away and drops on one knee to better inspect the wolf. There’s a long deep gash along the side of its spine and shallower cuts all over his body. Dark blood has formed a pool under him, soaking its dark brown fur. The wolf growls at him when he leans over.

“Easy,” Derek murmurs. “I have to go get the first aid kit.”

He feels a little ridiculous talking to the wolf, but then he feels a familiar pull when he meets those brown eyes. He quickly looks away.

“Oh.” He looks back at the wolf with his Sight and sees a boy trapped inside a wolf’s body. He’s about Stiles’ age, broad shoulders constricted by the skin and wrists bound over his head by barbed wire. Derek curses under his breath. The boy was transformed against his will. “I’ll be right back.”

He rushes downstairs to grab the first aid kit, a towel, a well-worn t-shirt, and three bottles of water. When he comes back the wolf hasn’t moved at all. Derek cleans the wounds as best he can and presses the shirt on the large gash. The wolf cries out and squirms under his palm.

“Stop moving,” Derek commands, which only makes the wolf growl at him. Derek sighs and softens his tone. “I need to stop the bleeding. Try not to move.”

The wolf’s body tenses up with his effort to stay still. Derek keeps pressing until the bleeding stops, and then stitches up the large gash on the wolf’s back. The wolf passes out sometime during the process. Derek carefully carries him into the living room.

People who has been involuntarily transformed into animals often lose their humanity. Even if their minds are strong enough to endure the transformation, they’ll eventually become mere beasts. Derek knows the basic theory of therianthropy, but he’s never good at it in practice. Laura used to tease him about it. ( _“That’s because you’re a stubborn ass,”_ she once said. _“You don’t know how to let go.”_ )

Laura would have known what to do.

As it is, he can only look for solutions from someone he’s been avoiding for five years. He throws a last glance at the wolf before he goes into the basement. The speaking stone is in one of the drawers of the closet, shoved under piles of clothes he no longer wears when the police handed it to him along with Laura’s other possessions. He had destroyed his years ago out of spite, but she had kept hers. He can never bring himself to throw away any of her things.

Derek lays the stone at the center of the circle engraved on his floor and activates it. The room around him vanishes into an ifinity of pale blue light. The silhouette of a cloakd man appears before him and slowly turns into the image of the man who has once been he and Laura’s mentor. Derek still remembers the day he found out what their mentor’s real objective was. It had hurt. So much so he risked being beheaded for real and ran away. Laura, being Laura, managed to track him down not even two hours after he set foot in New York. She yelled at him for not talking to her first, but she stayed, and for the most part, they had been left alone.

“Deaton.”

“Derek,” Deaton greets without any hint of surprise in his voice, as if it hasn’t been five years since they last talked to each other. “It’s been a while.” He pulls his cloak back to reaveal his face, half of which is covered by a large burn mark, and his left eye has been replaced by a prosthetic one. Surprised, Derek turns to his Sight. The prosthetic eye glows, bright and vibrant, pulsing like a heartbeat. It’s made of something powerful, almost alive. The left half of his face is an angry red, covered in slow-burning acid. The residues feel familiar. Derek has seen this kind of power. It’s like Peter’s claws. Like his mom’s sword. Like something deep inside of himself.

“You’re the new Gatekeeper.”

“That I am,” Deaton responds easily. “But that’s not why you call me.”

“A boy has been transformed into a wolf against his will,” Derek says. “For now he can still understand me.”

“I see.” Deaton’s left eye seems to flicker for a moment. “I believe you understand the complexity of such spell. Whatever did this would be too powerful for you to confront at this state. You need help. But even then it might proves impossible to convince the spellcaster to reverse the transformation.”

“Can’t you?”

Deaton shakes his head. “I have no knowledge of who and how the victim was before the transformation. Reversing it would do more harm than good.” Deaton pauses. “It might be a more viable option to teach him the basics of shapeshifting, so when you break the spell, he’d be able to shift back.”

There are so many problems with that sentence, Derek doesn’t even know where to start. He silently raises his left hand and points at the bracelet.

“I’d arrange for the device to be temporarily deactivated when you’re ready.” Deaton chuckles at his confusion. “You already have everything you need to break the spell at your disposal.”

“Do I?”

Deaton only smiles. He always smiles like he knows something others don’t, which is as infuriating as it has been, if not more.

“I’m afraid I cannot offer more assitance. I have matters to attend to - ”

“Wait,” Derek cuts him off. “How do I teach him something I can’t do?”

“You know enough. Your inability to shapeshift has nothing to do with your understanding of the mechanism, but everything to do with your mind.” Deaton’s words echo what he’s once said to Derek years ago. Derek feels a sense of nostalgia, but also the residue of past anger. He holds his hands together and breathes deep. It isn’t until he’s calmed down that he realizes whose hand he’s imagined holding.

Bony, disproportionately big, surprisingly strong and steady hands. Stiles would have glared at the bracelet like it’s his worst enemy, and tightened his grip like he needs it as much as Derek does. This isn’t the first time he catches himself remembering in times like this. Christ, it’s like he’s been conditioned to relax even at the memory of contact. Laura would have loved Stiles for drawing this Pavlovian reaction from Derek if for nothing else.

“Whomever you’re holding in your thoughts right now will be an invaluable ally in your future.” Deaton’s voice pulls him out of his thoughts. “Remember there’s power in connections. When the time comes you’ll need him as much as he needs you.” At that he cuts the line, effectively hanging up on him.

The blue light dissolves back into his room. Derek huffs and kicks at the circle. It’s childish, he knows, and it doesn’t do anything to Deaton. He’s forgotten how much he hates the way Deaton talks when he’s trying to, in his own words, give you “just the right amount” of information. Wizards are a cryptic bunch, and Alan Deaton the most cryptic of them all. In Derek’s opinion, you either tell or not tell, and Deaton’s always saying too much or not enough.

Derek sighs. He doesn’t know what he expected. He guesses it’s time to get some explanations from the wolf.

He grabs a ouija board and walks upstairs. The wolf’s ears perk up when he approaches him. “Tell me what happened.” Derek sits down and lays the board before the wolf. “Take your time.”

His names is Vernon Boyd, but he prefers to be called Boyd. He and his friend Erica Reyes were investigating the disappearance of Boyd’s sister when they witnessed two vampires - sounds like Red Court - feeding on their victims. They were caught. A woman, or something that looks like a woman, turned them into wolves, intending for them to be their attack dogs, but Reyes fought back and gave them a chance to escape.

“She fought back right after you were turned?” Derek asks.

Boyd nods.

“She was strong.” Derek hesitates for a moment before he lays his hand on Boyd’s back. “When a human mind survives this kind of transformation, it normally takes days, even weeks for most to learn how to walk properly.” He has no idea if this is supposed to be comforting, but Boyd nods and leans into his hand; he figures it’s not a wrong thing to say.

“I’ll need you to take me to where you buried her later,” Derek says. It feels weird to be the one talking with a silent partner. “Tomorrow. You need to rest.”

Boyd looks up at him for a while, and then lays back down.

“Need anything?”

Boyd shakes his head.

Derek gives him a light pat on the head before heading back to his room. It’s a restless night. Every little sound of shifting body, hitched breath, or low whimper can wake him up. He keeps going upstairs to check up on Boyd. In the end he gives up on going back to sleep altogether and starts jotting down what he knows about therianthropy with Boyd at his side.

At about six o’clock, Boyd’s back tenses up and a deep growl rumbles in his throat. Derek manages to block his face with an arm moments before Boyd pounces him and bites at him. Derek winces when he feels teeth sinking into his arm, strong jaw trying to crush his bone. Derek flips them over, pins Boyd onto the floor with a knee, and shouts into his ear, “Wake up, Boyd!”

Boyd’s eyes snap open, and he releases Derek’s arm with a startled cry. In an instant he’s out of the door running away. Derek curses and runs after him.

“Boyd!” he calls after the fleeting back. He’s stronger than most human beings, but that doesn’t mean he can outrun a wolf, especially in the woods. Soon Boyd disappears from his sight. Derek stops, panting. His arm has gone numb, and the right sleeve of his shirt is soaked with blood. The funny thing is, this isn’t even close to what the bracelet can do to him, has done to him.

He waits.

The cellphone in his pocket vibrates briefly with the familiar, ancient notification sound. He pulls his phone out. He has eleven unread text messages, all of which came from Stiles.

_Dude, did something happen? I was sleeping but then I kinda… felt you? And my arm hurts? Am I going crazy?_

_You really need to teach me how to reach for the mark. And no, “with your mind” is not a valid explanation._

_Don’t you think it’s a little unfair? You can stalk me whenever you want, but I can’t even tell if you’re dying or not._

_Not that you’ve been stalking me. I mean, you haven’t, have you?_

There’s a five minutes gap.

_What the hell does “reaching out with your mind” mean?_

_I could have just called you, but instead I’ve been doing weird mental yoga for five minutes_

_Are you alright??? Shouldn’t you be telling me to shut up and let you sleep???_

_Dude, you better not be running into fire on your own again._

_Rescuing old ladies? Feeding puppies? Killing monsters?_

_I’m gonna go kick your door down if you haven’t responded in ten minutes._

_Wait, you don’t have a door._

And then there’s the one from minutes ago.

_Dude, last warning._

_Don’t_. Derek sends out his reply as fast he can. _I’m fine. Go back to sleep._

_Proof? A selfie? Wait, we’re both using stupidphones._

Derek rolls his eyes and calls him.

‘Oh, hey,’ Stiles says, his voice raspy from sleep. ‘Good morning?’

“I’m fine.”

‘You sound fine, but you can literally be spilling your guts for all I know.’

“Stiles.”

‘What? You can’t blame me for worrying. Remember that vampire on your first day of chatting up old ladies? And the one after?’

He came across the latter a month ago, when he was making rounds in the Stilinski’s neighborhood. He followed her into an empty house and came out carrying an unconscious teenaged girl. The house was on fire. He was mildly high on vampire-saliva. And he was suffering from blood loss with three broken fingers, a punctured lung, and second-degree-burns on his hands.

The sheriff has threatened to put him in jail, since being imprisoned was obviously much safer than leaving him to his own devices. Stiles came to the hospital to yell at him every day until he was released, and then he somehow tracked him down every day at noon to yell at him while they had lunch. Derek didn’t really mind the company, but he didn’t want to be the source of daily entertainment in Beacon Hill.

‘Hello? You there? Did you lose conscious?’

Derek sighs. “I cut my arm by accident, but it’s nothing serious.”

There’s a moment of silence on the other end of the line. ‘Alright. Have you cleaned it? Properly?’

Derek peers at his arm. The bleeding seems to have stopped. “I was going to.”

‘Go on then. Wouldn’t want you to get sepsis.’

Derek snorts. “Goodbye, Stiles.”

‘I’ll see you after school.’ Stiles hangs up before Derek can say anything.

Derek hears the soft rustle of leaves and sees Boyd cautiously walking toward him. He throws him a glance and starts walking back. Boyd follows him two steps behind, silent save for his racing heart beats.

“Your stitches broke,” Derek says when they are back in the house. “Come on.”

He cleans up his arm first at Boyd’s insistence, and then redoes the stitches on Boyd’s back. When Derek’s done, it’s already the time he normally goes to the station. He puts on his leather jacket and calls the sheriff as he beckons Boyd to follow him out.

‘Something wrong?’ the sheriff asks. Derek can’t blame him for expecting troubles every time Derek calls; he does only call the sheriff when there’s a problem he can’t keep from the police, which most of the time means there’s murder involved.

“Do you know Erica Reyes or Vernon Boyd?”

A pause. ‘They were reported missing. I take it you know where they are?’

Derek unlocks the Camaro and opens the door for Boyd. Boyd jumps into the backseat, body curled into a ball. “Erica was buried near the cemetery. Can you meet us there? It’s…complicated.”

The sheriff sighs. ‘Should I be scared?’

Derek closes the door and climbs into the driver seat. “Not yet.”

The sheriff snorts. ‘I’ll see you there.’

The sheriff’s already standing at the entrance of the cemetery when they get there. He stares at them with an eyebrow raised as they approach. Derek points at Boyd and says, “This is Boyd.” The sheriff rubs his face roughly.

“Werewolves are real too?”

Derek nods. “But he was transformed against his own will by their attackers. Both he and Erica Reyes.”

“I’m too old for this,” the sheriff mutters. “Lead the way.”

Derek tells the sheriff what Boyd has told him as they follow Boyd. They stops by a tree right outside the back of the cemetery. Boyd starts digging the ground with his claws, sending soil flying behind him. The moment Derek sees the white bones Boyd stops dead and growls. There’s only a skeleton left, and the skull is missing.

Derek takes a deep breath, and switches to his Sight. He doesn’t see anything, which is more telling than if he does. All the footsteps the dead are supposed to leave are suspiciously absent. It could be that their attackers have wiped all traces that might lead back to them, but it wouldn’t do much with Boyd as a living witness, and leaving the skeleton makes no sense. Maybe her flesh and skull were of use for someone, but why her?

He can’t completely rule out the possibility that Boyd was lying and has destroyed the evidence of what really happened to Erica, but it’s unlikely. He hasn’t seen anyone who can hide their true nature from a wizard’s Sight.

Well, there’s Stiles, but that’s different. Hiding something from being seen is much easier than putting on a facade.

“This is from your side, I assume,” The sheriff says. He’s staring at the top of her spine. “The cut is clean, and there’s a layer of frost over the surface.”

Derek focuses on where the sheriff is gesturing at. The thin layer of frost looks almost mundane, but taking a closer look he can see there’s a faint trace of power around the tip. He frowns, takes his Swiss army knife out, and uses the thermometer to measures the cut surface. It’s under minus four hundred degree.

“You sure come prepared,” the sheriff says. “So?”

Derek blinks out of his Sight, ignoring the dull pain at the back of his head. “There’s not enough for me to give you anything useful.”

The sheriff raises an eyebrow, arms crossed before his chest. “Remember your one week in hospital a month after your five days in hospital?”

Derek ducks his head, feeling heat rising to his cheeks. “It wasn’t that serious.”

“ _Not that serious_ , he said.” The sheriff shakes his head. “Your instinct of self-preservation is as bad as my son’s, so tell me what you know.”

Derek sighs. “The cut surface is near absolute zero. It’s unlikely to be a wizard; reaching that point with mortal magic is difficult, and there’s easier way to separate the skull from the spine. It’s more likely to be a side effect of some sorts, so something of the Winter might be involved. This in addition to how there’s nothing of Erica Reyes left here, I’d say the absence of traces of the dead is not their purpose, but simply a result. Not careless, but confident. Not malicious, but not benign, either.”

“That’s the most words I’ve ever heard you say.”

Derek rolls his eyes. Moments like this remind him that the man people know as the brave, stoic, heroic problem-solver is indeed the father of the boy people know as the reckless, sarcastic, hyper troublemaker. One only has to be at their dinner table to notice the similarity, though; or be saved by the boy in life-and-death situations.

“I don’t think it’s their attackers. Doesn’t make sense for them to find the body but leave the skeleton.”

“So, not our enemies?”

Derek hears a soft rustle behind them. Footsteps, not far away. “I can’t be sure.” He turns around. A middle-aged man wearing a pair of rimless glasses is approaching them, eyes narrowed and eyebrows drawn. The sheriff stands up and takes quick steps to stop him from getting closer. Derek rests an arm on Boyd’s back and looks at the man with his Sight.

He is a broken man with a jagged soul, a mockery of man made of sharp blades and bent wires. The only thing keeping him from bursting out is a thin layer of silk, his last pretense of normalcy not out of morals but pride. There’s a thin, black needle in his heart, undetected, inconspicuous, leaving a hole which allows threads of darkness to climb in and make a home.

“Derek, you all right?”

Derek blinks out of his Sight. The dull throbs at the back of his head grows stronger. “I’m fine,” he says, looking at the man’s retreating back, and then back at the sheriff. “Who’s he?”

“Lahey, the keeper of the cemetery, former coach of the Beacon Hill High swimming team. Why?”

“He seems off.” Derek frowns at the mental image left in his head. He can’t be entirely sure what it means, but it’s nothing good. “Might be a danger to others if he hasn’t already been one.”

The sheriff looks bemused. “I can’t do much without evidence, but I’ll keep that in mind.”

Derek nods. “I’ll do some research. Try to find what might have been involved.”

“Don’t do anything reckless,” the sheriff warns. “I’ll see you later.”

Derek waves his hand at him, leaving him to deal with the body.


	2. The Boy

This might be one of the most awkward meals Stiles has ever had.

Scratch it. This _is_ the most awkward meal Stiles has ever had.

Seating arrangement in high school cafeteria is an unnecesarily complicated issue. It’s the ultimate embodiment of the interrelationships and hierarchy of all students. Stiles has been sharing table with Scott and the occasional odd members of the unpopular clan since elementary school, but ever since Scott and Allison became a thing, it has introduced unpredictable elements to the ecosystem; namely, the zero fucks given to rules by Allison.

She does as she pleases, whether it is sitting on the rooftop alone with Scott, sitting with Scott and Stiles, sitting among the kings and queens including Jackson and Lydia, or like right now, dragging Scott and Stiles to sit with all the most popular students. Stiles admires her for that, really, but between Jackson’s murderous look, Lydia pretending he doesn’t exist, and the confused looks given by the others, he’s seriously losing his appetite. (Danny is still smiling though. Danny never stops smiling.)

Scott, on the other hand, only has eyes for Allison; hence he is blessedly oblivious to the outside world. Stiles really envies him right now.

_OMG SAVE ME_ , he texts Derek. _How’s your arm by the way?_

_You seem fine_ , comes Derek’s reply, surprisingly soon. Stiles still can’t figure out the pattern of his response time. _My arm’s fine._

_Uncomfortable as fuck is what I am. aren’t you supposed to be able to stalk me with the mark?_

Derek doesn’t dignify that with a response. Stiles supposes it’s fair.

_Nvm. pls set sth on fire asap. I need an excuse to get out of here._

Derek sends some annoyance to him via their link. These casual and completely unnecessary uses of the triskelion never fail to make him smile. He can practically see Derek’s bitch face in his head right now.

_Just let Scott blow up the power grid._

_Huh, that’s actually not a terrible idea, but Lydia would kill me._

_Make it an accident._

Stiles covers his mouth to smother his snicker. Allison tilts her head and throws him a questioning glance. Stiles shakes his head and stands up.

“I’m just gonna go get more coffee.”

Stiles walks past Scott and “accidentally” drops the plastic cup onto the salt around him, spilling the remaining coffee and breaking the circle. His best friend does not disappoint. In seconds, the lights and fans over their head have gone off, and the damage is spreading rapidly.

“Sorry,” Stiles mouths at Allison, who gives him a quirked eyebrow and a small smile. _You’re a genius_ , he texts Derek, and bends down to clean up his mess.

“Christ, Stilinski, how do you survive to this day,” Jackson snarls.

“Why, Jackson, I didn’t know my survival concerns you,” Stiles replies evenly. “Not that I would make a better effort for you.”

Danny chuckles, earning him a glare from Jackson, but it lacks the heat that’s present when it’s directed to others, say, Stiles. How someone as nice as Danny can be Jackson’s friend for so long is another mystery. The weirdest thing is, Jackson actually lets Danny tease him without holding a grudge.

“I’ll cut you if you spill coffee near my shoes again,” Jackson bites out.

“Right.” Stiles rolls his eyes at him. “Get in line.”

“See you at practice, Stilinski,” Jackson says with a dark look, stalking off to god knows where.

“I have a bow and I’ll use it,” Allison calls after him. Her voice isn’t loud, but clear and crisp. Stiles would applaud her if Lydia weren’t here.

“Thanks, Allison.” Stiles flashes her a grin. “I’m gonna go where there’s light. You guys have fun.” He grabs his bag and leaves, ruffling Scott’s hair on his way out. He can feel Lydia’s calculating gaze on his back, but he doesn’t look back.

At practice, Jackson’s indeed being extra hard on him. Stiles is pretty sure it’s not standard for one single person to be responsible for preparing the fields and carrying all the equipments around, and warm-ups aren’t supposed to last for an hour straight even for a bench-warmer; he’s warm enough to warm all the benches and the bleechers. He still thinks Finstock must be blind to appoint Jackson the captain of the team. Sure he’s a great player and all, but he won’t call someone who abuses power to get back at him for something so trivial a good captain.

His only consolation are Allison’s murderous look and Danny’s disapproving glare. After dragging all the equipments back at the end of the practice, Stiles lies face down on the bench. His muscles are screaming at him and he thinks he might have pull something in his back.

“Stiles!” Scotts shouts at him. “Stiles, come on. Wake up!”

“What?” Stiles groans, turning around with great difficulty. “Something better be on fire.”

“Something is going to if you don’t help.” Scott pulls him up by his arm and drags him toward the gym.

“Ow, ow, my back hurts. Be gentle, will you?” Stiles shuffles along, letting Scott drag him forward. “What happened?”

“You know Isaac? We had English with him last semester.” Scott drags him to the one of the storage and knocks on the door. “Isaac, open up. I bring help.”

“No,” comes a small voice. “I’ll hurt you.”

“Isaac, trust me, I’ve been in your position. Stiles can help.” Scott knocks again. “It’s all right. I promise.”

The door creaks after a couple seconds. Scott pulls it open in one go, leaving Isaac exposed and scared before them. There’s static crackling around him while he retreats, arms hugging himself to make himself smaller. Stiles takes a couple steps forward, ignoring the web of electricity around him. It prickles, but it’s nothing compared to what he had felt before.

“Give me your hand,” Stiles says, as gentle as he can manage. “Come on, you aren’t so bad. Scott set my clothes on fire the first time he lost control.”

Isaac purses his lips, his hand hesitant in reaching out, but he does it in the end. Stiles grabs him and feels the nervous energy trickling in, drops by drops. “Hey, don’t worry. You won’t hurt me. It actually feels kinda like a jet shower head. I happen to be in need of a good message. Word of advice, never join the lacrosse team. Jackson Whittemore is the worst team captain in the world.”

He feels the last of Isaac’s resistance melts and the magic rushes into him at full speed, and god, it does feel like a jet shower, the kind that massages his entire body at the same time. Stiles lets out an embarrassingly loud moan that makes his whole face heat up. He bites his lips before he can make things worse. At the corner of his eyes he can see Isaac’s face flare up, and Scott’s blushing as well. They are three tomatoes trading awkward glances with each other; ain’t it a sight to behold.

“Oh god I hate myself,” Stiles groans. “I think you’ll be fine now. I’m letting you go, okay?”

“Yeah, sure.” Isaac pulls his hand back and shoves it into his pocket. “Um, thank you.”

“That didn’t happen last time,” Scott says helpfully, his eyes dancing with amusement. “Doesn’t sound like it hurts though.”

“Fuck you,” Stiles grunts, flipping him off for good measure. “That has never happened. I blame Jackson. I blame everything on Jackson.”

“Um, so what is that?” Isaac asks, and then he adds, “I don’t mean, um, ‘ _that_ ’. I mean the electric thing.”

“Please forget _that_ ever happened, please?” Stiles knocks his head against the wall. “And that thing is your magic. It responds to your emotions.” Stiles turns his face around and says, “You are a wizard, Isaac,” in the lowest voice he can manage. Scott cracks up and gives him a thumbs-up.

"A wizard," Isaac repeats, his tone clearly suggesting that he's not buying the whole thing. "What, like _Harry Potter_?"

"Not quite. I'm pretty sure there's no Hogwarts, and you don't fly with a broomstick, and having magic causes a lot more troubles than in their world." Feeling the muscles of his legs spasm, Stiles drags a box out and sits on it. It doesn't help much, but at least it would prevent him from hitting anything if his legs give out. "Scott's been learning, if you'd like to see some magic."

Scott rakes his fingers through his hair and says, "Stiles, you know I'm still terrible," his face flushed with embarrassment, but with a smile tugging his lips. "I mean, you've seen how terrible I am."

"You're fine with shield."

"No, I'm not. Chris said it's too rigid and might do more harm than good."

"Oh, stop criticizing yourself." Stiles stretches his leg to kick at him and greatly regrets it when he feels a piercing burn and his leg contracts involuntarily. He bites down a pained cry and rubs at it, trying to coax his own muscle into relaxing, but it won't cooperate. He yelps in surprise when Isaac kneels down before him and starts massaging his leg with steady hands, his eyes focused and lips thin. A twisting sensation Stiles recognizes as concern trickles through their contact, and it doesn't feel warm like happiness or love, but it warms him nonetheless.

"Hey, thanks." Stiles pats his shoulder lightly, but Isaac flinches away, wide-eye and back hunched, his arms raised like he's anticipating a blow. Stiles has seen this kind of reaction before, in videos his dad didn't exactly show him, but left unattended on the couch. He looks up at Isaac, who stumbles backward and freezes halfway, eyes darting frantically to look at anywhere other than Stiles. He sighs, catches Scott's eyes and flicks his chin at Isaac, hoping their childhood-friends-telepathy would work this time. Stiles can see Scott doesn't really get it, but he does what he always does when he sees someone in distress: he offers comfort.

"Isaac," Scott calls out, voice gentle. "You all right?"

Isaac nods, his hands lowered but his fists still clenched. There's a bruise, Stiles notices now, on the innerside of his arm. "I don't want to pressure you into doing anything, but if you ever need to talk to the police - "

"I'm fine," Isaac cuts him off. "You were saying something about shield? Is that some kind of magic as well?"

It doesn't take a genius to know he's changing the subject, but Stiles doesn't push it. Instead, he edges the box he's using as a chair a little closer to Isaac and explains, "It's shield formed by magic, but there's no definite way to do it. Some people form shields with their own will, like Scott. Some solidify air. Some use water. And there are people who use widely different method in different situations." _Like Derek used to do_ , he doesn't say. _A genius in defensive magic_ , Chris has called Derek. He's asked Derek about it once, after one of the many dinners Derek has had with him and his dad, and Derek just looked so god damn wistful Stiles wanted nothing more than breaking into the Argents' house and shaking some sense into Chris.

"Can you show me?" Isaac asks, a little awkwardly, like he still finds his question a little absurd. Stiles exchanges a look with Scott, nods, and picks up a tennis ball from a cart. "Don't worry, Scott. You did well last time. Besides, it wouldn't hurt even if you get hit by me, you know that."

Scott slips a bracelet made of iron chains on and holds his hand up, a faint blue sphere forms before his palm, and it grows, bigger and thicker, until it covers Scott's whole front. Stiles throws the ball at him, as hard as his sore body's capable of, and it bounces back like it would a wall.

"Dude," Scott shouts his exitement. The shield breaks and vanishes as soon as his attention shifts else where. "That's my best one yet." He turns to Isaac, who's now looking at him in shock. He grins. "Pretty awesome, right? And you're like me! We can learn magic together!"

Stiles snorts at him. "If you don't mind him making eyes at Allison like a dork the whole time."

"Oh, but Allison's dad is out of town now, so my lesson's stopped for now..." Scott trails off, and then his face lights up the way it does when he thinks he has a great idea. "Hey, we should have a sleepover. We can tell you what you should be careful about. And about making a circle."

"I - " Isaac glances at Stiles, and then back at Scott. Anyone else would have been accused of trying to get Isaac to leave his house now, but Scott just looks so genuine and makes everything sounds so simple. "I'll have to grab some clothes from home."

"Great!" Scott beams at Isaac, and then slowly, staying where Isaac can see, puts his hand on Isaac's shoulder. "You ride a bike, don't you? I can go with you. I have my mom's car today. You can put your stuff in the car.

For a moment Isaac just stares at Scott, trying to piece out his motive, but Stiles knows he won't find anything. Scott usually isn't thinking much when he does nice things. "Okay," Isaac says, a small smile on his face. "Thanks."

They make their way to the parking lot. Stiles wants to check up on Derek before he gets home, and is about to tell Scott to let themselves in if they beat him to it, but then he remembers what Derek has said about threshold. Would Scott be recognized as a member of their family? What would happen if he invites them in after they get in? In the end he decides to invite Derek over for dinner. He isn't sure how it would go. He's never invited Derek without his dad present before.

"I thought we're past the ignoring my call phase." He says when Derek finally picks up the phone after he called about ten times on his way home. He pulls into the garage. "Seriously, what if I'm dying? What if I need moral support? What if I'm embarking on a dangerous quest and may never be back?"

'I'd know,' Derek says simply. 'What do you want?'

"Is this how you talk to someone who's about to treat you to dinner?" Stiles makes an obnoxious sniff. "I'm hurt, Derek."

'Your dad has a night shift.'

"So?" Stiles wants to point out that they have had dinner without his dad before, but that one time was the day before Laura and Peter's burial; it's probably not a good thing to bring up right now, or any time, really. "Scott's coming as well, and a friend of his called Isaac. We found out he's magic today. He didn't know anything about it."

Derek stays silent for a long time. Stiles is more or less used to these long stretches of silence in their conversations now. But it's harder to wait for Derek to talk when they are on phone, since he can't see Derek's face and have no way to know what Derek's thinking. "Hello?"

'There's someone I can't leave alone tonight,' Derek says, and Stiles doesn't know why but suddenly his stomach drops and his heart aches, and he wants to ask who that someone is but at the same time dreading the answer. _You're being ridiculous_ , Stiles berates himself. It's good that Derek's spending time with someone. Even better that he's spending nights with someone.

'Stiles, you okay?' Derek asks, voice laced with concern.

"Stalking through the link again?" Stiles keeps his voice light and teasing, resolutely ignoring the weird feeling that's making it hard for him to breathe. "I'm fine. It's okay. You said your arm's fine now, right?"

'Yes.'

"Great. I'll leave you alone now. Have a good time." He quickly hangs up before Derek can say anything, his breathing oddly unsteady. Why is he - Derek probably has a date or something. it's a good thing. It's not like Derek will be having sex with the bracelet on or anything - No, that's not the point. He should be worried Derek won't be able to have sex even if he wants to. That's another terrible thing the Council has done to Derek. Oh god, Stiles suddenly realizes, Derek hasn't even be able to jerk off since he was _seventeen_.

He can tell Derek to temporarily store all his magic in him, but he doubts Derek would listen. He had to fucking beg Derek to let him shoulder half of it when Derek was _dying_.

Stiles doesn't remember getting into the door, but when Scott calls out his name, he's lying on the couch in their livingroom staring at his phone, so he must have at some point. "Come in," he calls out, not bothering to get up. He listens to the door being unlocked and opened, followed by footsteps approaching him, and then Scott's upside-down head enters into his vision, his eyebrows furrowed.

"Dude, did something happen? You're brooding."

"Am not," Stiles mumbles, shoves his phone into his pocket, and adds, "I don't feel like cooking today, so pizza?"

"Isaac?" Scott asks, and Isaac must have nodded or something, since Scott continues to ask what flavor they want, and calls pizza delivery while Stiles's alternating between taking his phone out to stare at it and putting it back into his pocket to stop himself from staring at it.

"Dude, you sure you're okay?" Scott asks, and when Stiles doesn't answer, he plucks the phone from his hand. "Did you have a fight with Derek or something?"

"What? No, why would you think that?" Stiles grabs for the phone, straining his back to sit up, but his back protests rather violently and drops him back to the couch.

"Well, you're staring at your phone."

"Couldn't I be texting Lydia?"

Scott shrugs. "You're used to Lydia telling you off."

Stiles opens his mouth to protest, but realizes that Scott isn't wrong. Lydia's rejection doesn't really sting anymore; in fact, it doesn't even disappoint him now. It's kind of pathetic, when he thinks about how used to being rejected he is.

"We didn't fight." Stiles slowly sits up. Scott's sitting at the dining table with Isaac next to him, who looks significantly less tense. Scott always has that effect on people. It's probably the puppy eyes, or the boyish smile, or the fact that he's just nice. "Have you told him about circle?"

It doesn't take a genius to figure out Stiles is changing the subject, either, but Scott lets it slide. Stiles starts explaining to Isaac what effect magic has on technology, and how he can stop that from happening with a circle. Isaac’s smile is bright and carefree when he forms his first circle.

“Good job, man,” Scott says with a grin, arm circling Isaac’s shoulders. Isaac glances at Scott’s arm with a curious look in his eyes, his cheeks flushed, but his shoulders free of any trace of tension. “I hope I know magic better so I can teach you more. I mean, there’s Derek, but - we’ll wait for Mr. Argent to come back.”

Stiles sighs inwardly. Scott’s been mad at Derek ever since Derek upset Allison when she picked up Stiles’ phone for him. Allison didn’t tell Scott the detail, but Derek didn’t hide it from him when he confronted him, and Derek really wasn’t helping his case by telling Scott to be wary of her. Scott was furious, barely stopping himself from lashing out at Derek. He came straight to Stiles’ home to vent, and Stiles knew why he was so angry, but the thing was, he also understood why Derek reacted the way he did.

“Scott,” Stiles begins. He doesn’t quite know what he’s going to say, but - “You know he can, and will help.”

“I don’t trust him,” Scott bites out, lips pulled tight and jaw clenched. It’s like he’s trying to get back at Derek for not trusting Allison by not trusting Derek at all. “Maybe you are the one who has too much faith in him.”

“ _Scott_ ,” Stiles warns, voice hardening. He’s told Scott _everything_. Scott, of all people, should know how much Derek has done for him, and for other people in Beacon Hill. Derek’s spilled blood in both their backyards to set up wards for them for Christ’s sake, and he wouldn’t have stopped at two if Stiles hadn’t found out and stopped him. “Don’t.”

Scott glares at the wall like it’s his worst enemy, his mouth a stubborn line. Stiles catches his eyes out of habit, and then quickly looks away; he has considered to just Soulgaze with Scott to get it out of their way so that they can looks into each other’s eyes again, but the last time he Soulgazed someone he ended up getting linked to Derek; he wouldn’t want the three of them to end up in a magical polygamy. Things have been complicated enough as it is.

The doorbell rings, making both of them jump. Before either of them can react, Isaac’s already at the door, greeting the Pizza guy and paying for their dinner.

“Sorry,” Scott says to Isaac once the Pizza guy is gone. “We don’t normally argue. Didn’t mean to spoil the mood.”

“It’s fine.” Isaac lays the boxes on the table and opens them. “Tell me more about what you have learned? It’s pretty cool.”

“Of course.” Scott gives him a warm smile before turning to Stiles and adds, “I’ll leave the theories to Stiles, though. I pretty much forget about the why once I know the how.”

“That’s the Scott I know,” Stiles says with a snort, and just like that, they are okay again.

Neither of them bring up Derek the rest of the evening, but that’s okay, too; Scott will come around eventually.

*

He senses the familiar presence when Scott and Isaac are both soundly asleep on the mattress he’s laid on the floor, and Stiles is lying on his stomach on his bed trying to give himself a back massage. It’s not exactly warmth, or a sound. It’s more like walking into a room and instinctively knows that you are not alone, even though you haven’t seen or heard anything.

“Dude, it’s one o’clock in the morning,” Stiles mutters under his breath, his words muffled by the pillow. He turns his head to the side and finds Derek looking at him through the window. He would have screamed bloody murder if it hadn’t been the link they share. “Seriously, someday you’re gonna get yourself arrested again.”

Derek opens the window and looks over at the two bodies snuggling on his floor, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Stiles chuckles softly, pushing himself up on his elbows, trying his best to be quiet as he steps around the mattress to get to Derek.

“Hey, didn’t you say you couldn’t leave?” Stiles whispers, swallowing down the lump in his throat. Behind him Scott stirs a little, mumbling nonesense into Isaac’s hair. Stiles sticks his head out of the window and looks up. “Maybe we should talk else where.”

Derek raises an eyebrow at him, pointing downward with a finger. Stiles shakes his head and points at the roof, giving him a cheeky grin as he swings his leg over the window sill. A strong hand immediately comes to his arm to steady him, a heavy sigh ghosting over his forehead. There’s a flurry of movement as Derek pulls himself onto the roof, and then Stiles’ looking up at Derek, whose hand stretches between them, strong and steady, his eyes focused on every movement Stiles’ making; it should be unnerving, but instead, it’s comforting.

Stiles holds onto Derek’s hand and wonders, how can he feel so safe when he’s being pulled up by only a man with no solid ground under him? And the answer can’t be more simple: Derek has never let him fall.

“You’re impossible.” Stiles lies down on the roof, and quickly rolls onto his side because his back does not like that one bit. Derek tilts his head in question Stiles has somehow learned to read. He answers, “Jackson. Rough practice. I’m sore all over.”

Derek reaches out, and then pauses when his hand is inches away from Stiles’ face. “Scott?” he asks before awkwardly withdrawing his hand. What Stiles wouldn’t give to know what Derek’s just talked himself out of doing.

“They didn’t start out that way, but Scott’s a cuddler by nature, and Isaac just sort of cuddled back.” Not before blushing so hard Stiles’ afraid he’s going to have a stroke, but he looks comfortable around Scott, or in this case, comfortable with Scott around him.

“He’s hurt,” Derek says. “Repeatedly. Has been, still is.”

“Yeah, that’s what I’m afraid of.” Whether it’s from school or family or something else, Stiles isn’t sure, but from the way Scott described his first meeting with Isaac’s father, it hasn’t exactly been pleasant. “Can you… ask around? I’d ask my dad, but he barely has time to talk to me the past few days. I don’t want to bother him before we have some idea about what’s happening.”

Derek nods. “Last name?”

“Lahey, Isaac Lahey.” Hearing Derek’s barely audible “Oh”, Stiles blinks at him in surprise. “You heard of him?”

“I saw his father today. He looks… dangerous.”

“Dangerous how?” Stiles sits up, or tries to. Derek catches him by shoulder before he can crash back onto the tiles. “Like he’s not human or something?”

“In a mundane way.” Derek pulls his hand away, staring off into the distance. “Like Kate if she hadn’t had magic, and had been a little less fucked up.”

“Shit, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean - ” Stiles drags himself closer to Derek, hand hovering until he finally settles it down on Derek’s knee. “Hey, I know, all right? It isn’t fair.”

Derek stares at the hand on his left knee. “You don’t know the whole story.”

“I don’t need the whole story to know that.”

For a few minutes Derek sits silent and motionless, save for his blinking and the steady rise and fall of his chest. When he finally opens his mouth, he says, “You were hurt when we were on phone earlier, when I said I couldn’t come.” And Stiles would have laughed because they are all so terrible at talking about themselves, and equally bad at changing the subject, but his throat locks up and suddenly it’s hard to breathe properly.

He was _jealous_. Oh, fuck, he was jealous. He was the one who said he only wanted Derek to be happy when Derek said everyone wanted something, and then his stupid heart decided to have _feelings_ for Derek and his stupid brain decided to, what, expect Derek to return those feelings? And what about Lydia? He's been pining after her forever, and yet -

Derek shouldn’t need to deal with this shit, especially not when Stiles isn’t even sure what _this_ is.

“Stiles?” Derek asks, with concern he no longer hides, or maybe Stiles has just gotten better at spotting it. Stiles smiles, then, heart suddenly lighter and breathing easier. He knows Derek cares about him. That’s got to be enough for now.

“Nah, I was being stupid. Nothing you need to worry about.”

Derek frowns at him, lowering his head to have a better look at his face. Stiles’ heart speeds up of its own accord, heavy and erratic, so he reaches out to lightly pat Derek’s cheek, and says, “Aww, you came all the way here because you were worried about me,” while grinning like a lunatic. Derek huffs and shoves his hand away.

“You would be the death of me,” Derek mutters, the corners of his mouth quirking up.

“I certainly hope not,” Stiles says, only half-joking, tucking his hands behind his head to stop himself from touching Derek again. He can still feel the surprisingly soft beard and the tickling stubble under his fingers, and god, _god_ , how did he not realize he has feelings for this man, whatever those feelings are? How could he not feel something for the man who has been hurt again and again, and yet wants nothing but to protect people, who keeps himself close off not because he doesn’t have a heart, but because he has one that’s too big and feels too deeply, who has saved his life at the risk of his own, who listens even when he himself has lost track of what he’s saying, who gets annoyed when he sends him too many text messages, but still reads them all and answers him?

“I’m really glad I met you.” His voice is barely a whisper, softer than even his breathing, should have been drowned out by his thundering heartbeats, but Derek, as always, hears him anyway.

“Um.” Derek looks at him strangely, at a loss for words, and it’s rare, so rare, because Derek may not be a big fan of talking, but he speaks volumes through his face, his action; now he simply doesn’t know how to react, and Stiles probably should have taken pity on him and say something, but he waits, looking at Derek’s stupidly attractive face lit by moonlight, feeling the link swelling, flooding him with warmth.

“I - ” Derek pauses, “Why are you - ” he reaches his hand out and then promptly pulls back, “Now you are happy, but - ” he says in a confused tone, and finally ends with “Are you still sore?”

Stiles barks out a surprised laugh, and quickly covers his mouth with a hand, muffling his laughter. “Duh, yeah,” he says after his fits of laughter finally stop. “Or I would have fallen asleep when you were communicating through your _eyebrows_.”

Derek cuffs the back of his head, and Stiles whines in mock-hurt, earning him an eye-roll and a snort, but then Derek holds his head with both hands and starts massaging his neck, and Stiles can’t help but leans into him and lets out a moan that’s more than a little embarrassing.

“Sorry,” Stiles says when Derek freezes up, his face so hot he can probably cook an egg on his cheek. “I’m not kidding when I said I’m really sore, everywhere. I mean, you know how we know Isaac is magic? He started shooting electricity when he got seriously anxious, and it sort of felt like shower jet or massage tub to me, and it was right after lacrosse practice, so. You won’t believe how loud I moaned. They were both, like, beetroot red, and I was probably worse.” Stiles stops to take a breath, and then groans. “Oh my god why am I telling you the most embarrassing moment in my life? I mean, I don’t exactly have a reputation to maintain, but this is blackmail material, straight up. It never happened okay. It was all a bad dream.”

Warm hands find their way back to the nape of his neck, and Stiles relaxes again. “Ridiculous,” Derek says, chuckling, and that has become one of his favorite sounds in the world, along with Derek’s laugh, Derek’s exasperated but fond sigh, and the gentle voice Derek sometimes uses when he talks about his family. “I want to try something.”

Stiles lifts his head a little so that he can meets Derek’s eyes. “If that something ends with you feeling sore in my stead, then no.”

“It doesn’t.”

Stiles lies back into Derek’s hands. “Be my guest then.” He sees the incredulous arch of Derek’s eyebrow and says, “What? I trust you.” It rolled so easily off his tongue, he didn’t even realize how significant the phrase might be to Derek, until he feels a mix of fear and gratefulness flowing into him. “I trust you with my life,” Stiles says. “I trust you with the lives of people I care about.”

Derek opens his mouth, but no word comes out. Stiles can feel his frustration coming in waves, and Stiles doesn’t want that. “Hey, it’s fine,” Stiles says, giving Derek’s arm a gentle squeeze. “I didn’t say that because I want something in return. I only want to tell you. That’s all.” He breaks into a grin. “Come on. Do whatever you were going to do, and I’ll continue making embarrassing noises no one should ever have to endure. You’ll need brain bleach after tonight.”

Derek cracks a little smile. “Idiot.”

Stiles may have squeaked a little when Derek puts a hand under his shirt, above his hip, and he definitely moans, out loud, when a prickling sensation similar to what he has felt from Isaac hits him. “Oh fuck, oh fuck. You’re a genius. Derek fucking Hale you are a fucking genius.” Then Derek’s other hand joins in and it’s warming him from the inside, soothing and relaxing, wiping his brain of all coherent thoughts, rendering him a blabbering mess. “Yeah, right there. Fuck, _fuck_ , how do you do that. God it feels so good.”

When Derek’s done he feels boneless and weightless, his eyelids heavy, seconds away from falling shut. He doesn’t protest when Derek loops an arm around his waist, tucking him under his armpit like he’s a - a sniper rifle, and he must have lost conscious for a few seconds, because the next thing he knows Derek’s already carrying him up the stairs, into his room.

“Dude - you - ” Stiles slurs, his arms around Derek’s neck, his face smashed into his shoulder. “Did you just jump off the roof? With me on your back?”

“Not in one go.”

“That’s - so not the point.”

Derek walks silently to his bed, carefully avoiding Scott and Isaac, who have exchanged position sometime during the night. Stiles cackles at the sight of Isaac spooning Scott. He wonders how they'd react in the morning. Mainly Isaac. Scott probably wouldn't even find it worth mentioning.

“Gonna tuck me in?” Stiles asks once Derek lays him on his bed, or he meant to ask that; what comes out of his mouth sounds more like what would happen when a five-year-old tries to recite Shakespeare. Derek snorts like he understands him, though, so maybe his face is more expressive than he thought, or Derek knows him better than he thought.

“Go to sleep,” Derek says, and it’s a really bad habit to use imperative sentences all the time, but his voice is so gentle and his eyes so soft Stiles has to fight to keep himself awake, to have this, whatever this is, a moment longer.

“ _Sleep_ , Stiles.” Derek grabs the blanket and throws it at him. Stiles peels it from his face, giggling like an idiot, and buries his head into the pillow.

“Goodnight,” he mumbles. “Thanks.”

“Goodnight,” Derek says, leaning down to press a kiss on the pendant before tucking it under Stiles shirt.

His last thought, while he watches Derek walking out of the door - but not before locking up his window, because this is _Derek_ \- with the solid weight of warm iron on his chest and the faint lingering smell of earth and coffee, is that he is utterly, irreversibly _fucked_.


	3. The Ghost

Lydia rarely regrets anything, but she regrets meeting the blonde girl’s eyes in the mirror without checking if others can see her. Lydia can’t really be blamed for assuming she’s just another student, since she’s so much more concrete than any ghost Lydia’s ever seen. With her bright eyes and pink cheeks, she looks alive, even healthy, her true nature only betrayed by the slight delay of her reflection and the unsteady form of her shadow, like the reality isn’t quite sure how to interact with her.

“You can see me!” she exclaims. “Don’t try to pretend you can’t. You can totally see me!”

Lydia takes her time to dry her hand and brush a loose strand of hair back to where it should be, not sparing the ghost a single glance. She looks familiar to her, probably a student here. Lydia would have heard if anyone died in this small school, so her death must have been new, or undiscovered.

“Hey! Don’t ignore me. I need your help.”

Lydia’s tempted to just throw a handful of ghost dust at her, but even though it’d immobolize her, it’d no doubt make her furious. Lydia thinks about what she’s read from the book Chris Argent lent her, about insanity granting ghost power, and decides to err on the side of caution. It is easier to ignore her, anyway.

“Of all the people in this school, you have to be the one who can see me,” she complains, raking her fingers through her hair, comfirming that she was a student here, and that she knows Lydia. Lydia barely stops herself from rolling her eyes. She’s far from the only person who can see her.

“It’s important, all right? People would die if no one does anything about them.” She bites her lips, pleading silently. Someone important to her is in danger, Lydia thinks. She can talk to the sheriff, who knows more about what happened three months ago than she does, but is there truly something to tell?

Ghosts are memories, footsteps left by the deceased, not the deceased themselves. She’ll look into it before she does anything, she decides. It’s better not to acknowledge the ghost until she has some concrete information.

“Really? You won’t even look at me?”

Lydia walks out of the bathroom. She would have headed straight to the classroom, but Allison has History with her. She told her she couldn’t see most ghosts the way Lydia did without using her Sight, and her dad had strongly suggested her not to use it unless it was necessary, but she could sense them in close proximity. Even though Lydia’s not too keen on the idea of skipping class for a ghost, she might have to do that if she hasn’t lost her tail in… five minutes. It would be difficult, considering the ghost can go through walls and she can’t. Where’s a church when you need one?

“What? Is the queen of Beacon Hill, Lydia Martin, too good for little old me?”

Lydia sighs inwardly. Maybe she should use some ghost dust on her afterall. It’d save her the headache. Or maybe she should lead her to Stiles or Scott. They will be more than happy to deal with this. She can even try Derek Hale, who specifically told her not to call him unless there’s an emergency, but apparently has a really low standard as to what counts as an emergency.

“God, you’re such a - ”

Lydia expects the word “bitch” to come out of her mouth, but she suddenly falls silent behind her. Lydia’s thinking about if she should chance a glance to see if the ghost’s still there when the lights above her head suddenly explodes, and a body slams into her, tackling her out of harm’s way. She looks up at the cool body covering hers, and sees a boy who looks about her age staring back at her, a grin on his face. There’s another boy with the same face standing behind him, rolling his eyes at his twin.

“You all right? I’ll hate to see a face so beautiful cut.” He pulls back and offers her his hand. Lydia’s about to take it when the ghost starts yelling.

“How dare you show your face here, you _murderers_.” She swings at him, but her hand goes right through his head. She growls in frustration, tears streaking down her flushed cheeks, eyes blazing with anger. “Boyd better be all right, or I swear to god, I will find a way to tear you all to pieces, no matter what price I have to pay.”

And suddenly Lydia sees it. She sees the boy before her tearing into a girl’s neck, his bloody lips stretched into a feral grin. Then the owner of the eyes she’s looking out of screams, struggling on the ground as her sight changes, the boy’s sharp laugh ringing in her ears.

“Hey, you aren’t hurt, are you?” The boy asks with a concerned look, waving his hand before her eyes. Lydia pushes back the sudden disgust she feels and gives him a sweet smile, taking his hand to let him pull her to her feet.

“Thank you,” Lydia says, ignoring the ghost’s heated glare and angry words. “I have never seen you before. You are?”

“Aiden,” he says, holding her hand for a moment too long before letting go. “That’s my brother Ethan behind me, trying to spoil all my fun.”

“Transfer students,” Ethan helpfully supplies. “I’m the smart one.”

Lydia chuckles. “It’s nice meeting you two, and thanks again for saving me from exploding lights, but I’m afraid I have to take my leave now. I’m going to be late.”

“Pity. Maybe you’ll buy me coffee for my heroic deed?” He smiles at her. “Or let me buy you one? I’m not picky.”

“I have a boyfriend, Aiden,” Lydia says, with a smile to cut the bluntness of her words.

“Ah, of course you do.” Aiden puts his arm around his brother’s shoulder. “I’ll see you around.”

Lydia flashes him a smile before walking away. She walks right through the ghost girl on purpose, hoping she is smart enough to get the hint. She does. Lydia walks into the classroom with her trailing behind. Allison’s shoulders tense up for a moment, but relax when Lydia gives her a nod. Lydia takes the seat next to her and writes, “tell me everything,” on her notebook.

The ghost peeks over her shoulder and starts talking.

*

“It’s empty,” the ghost - Erica says. “Come on.”

Lydia walks into the locker room. Erica’s standing before a locker, beckoning her impatiently. Lydia gets to her side and finds it locked with a padlock.

“She didn’t give you the combination, I assume.”

Erica huffs. “She didn’t.”

“Why even put your skull in the boy’s locker room?” Lydia mutters. She pulls the shakle up and starts feeling for resistence. Erica leans over her, watching her with curious eyes.

“How the hell do you know how to do this?” Erica asks. “Shady past?”

Lydia snorts without answering. She eliminates the possibilities down to eight combinations in her head and starts trying. The lock opens on her third try. She opens the door. The skull sits at the bottom of the locker, waiting for someone to pick it up. She puts it in her bag.

“You got it?” Allison pops in. “The boys are coming back in.”

Lydia nods at her. “Let’s get going then.”

It doesn’t take long for Lydia to notice that Allison’s nervous on their way to the station, and it doesn’t take any time at all for her to deduce the reason. From the outside Allison looks perfectly composed, but the calmness is deliberate, practiced. The pace of her breathing never changes. Her smile never falters. Her hands stay rested on her laps and never move even when she’s talking.

Lydia knows about the phone call. She isn’t angry the way Scott is. Irrationality seldom comes to her even when she is furious. She saw Allison hurting, and sent a single text she had no doubt would cut through Derek’s defense, but not cruel enough to break. From what she can gather Derek is now the only active defender against the occult this town has, and a crippled one at that.

“I can make sure he’s not there,” Lydia says.

Allison doesn’t pretend to not know who they’re talking about. She knows better.

“I’ll live.” She chuckles. “Thanks.”

The sheriff is getting into his car when they get to the station. Allison visibly relaxes. Lydia pulls up before him and rolls the window down.

“Sheriff Stilinski,” she calls out. “May I have a word with you?”

The sheriff pauses. “Of course. How can I help you?”

“It’s something better discussed in private. You know Allison’s house?”

The sheriff nods and gets into the car. “I’ll meet you there.”

*

Lydia has thought about how different the sheriff and Stiles are, on the rare occasions she thought about Stiles at all. She can see why the man makes a good sheriff. While she has never been bothered by close scrutiny, she feels oddly vulnerable when the sheriff is watching her. Vulnerable, and yet safe. It’s a strange combination she’s unfamiliar with.

“I see.” The sheriff pockets his notepad, his lips thin. “Officially I have no authority now, but I will do what I can.”

“No authority?” Lydia asks.

“Suspended, for the time being.” Lydia is about to ask more, but the sheriff shakes his head at her. “Is Miss Reyes still here?”

Erica has been quiet during the conversation. Allison, too. They sit on either side of Lydia, Allison’s body warm against her, and Erica’s memory too close to her for comfort. “Yes.”

“Vernon Boyd is safe,” the sheriff says. Erica’s relieved sigh sends a string of images into Lydia’s head - their last momnets together. Lydia winces and shifts closer to Allison. “He’s stuck in the wolf form for now, but Derek is trying to find a way for him to change back.”

Allison tenses up at the mention of Derek’s name. Lydia lays a hand on her knee. The sheriff’s eyes flick to Allison for a brief moment. “Her skull. Her ghost is tied to it?”

“She made a deal,” Lydia says. “Her body and soul in exchange for time in the living world long enough to help her friend.”

“With whom?”

“She doesn’t know for sure.” Lydia shrugs at the disbelief on the sheriff’s face. “She was desparate.”

The sheriff is silent for a few seconds. “Call Derek and tell him what you know. I’ll look into the transfer students. Come to me if you have anything new. Don’t do anything on your own.”

“Of course.” Lydia gets to her feet. “Thank you, _sheriff_ Stilinski.”

The sheriff gives her a warm smile before letting himself out.

Watching him go, she thinks about what can possibly be the reason for his suspension. Peter Hale’s killling spree is the only thing that comes to her mind. She doesn’t know about all the details, since Allison doesn’t know everything, either, but she knows enough to tell that the sheriff couldn’t have put the truth in his report. The official story would at least be plausible, but too far-fetched not to attract suspicion.

“I’m going to talk to him,” Lydia says to Allison. “You?”

Allison purses her lips. “I’ll stay, this time.” She looks up at her. “Call me when you get home safe?”

“I will.” Lydia smooths out her hair and smiles. “Later.”

*

Derek picks up the phone on the third ring and demands to know what the threat is. He almost hangs up on her before she can properly explain the situation, which Lydia doesn’t appreciate at all. It’s tiring, talking to someone quiet but hot-headed on phone. She can’t gauge his reaction until he explodes in some way.

“Ghosts aren’t the dead themselves,” Derek snaps. “Trap her before I get there - ”

“I’m perfectly aware of what ghosts are, thank you,” Lydia cut him off. “She made a deal to anchor her soul to her skull.”

“And you believe her?”

“I know what I saw,” Lydia says shortly. “I don’t, however, know who she made the deal with, which is precisely the reason I call.” Erica waves her hand at Lydia, and the image of Boyd flashes through her. Lydia narrows her eyes at her. She isn’t sure if Erica’s doing it on purpose. ”And she wants to make sure Vernon Boyd is fine.”

Derek grunts. That might be his way of assent, or it might be an objection. She wonders how Stiles holds a conversation with this man and actually enjoys it.

“The entrance of the preserve,” finally he says with actual words, and then he promptly hangs up. Lydia glares at her phone and briefly wonders if it’s below her to call back just to teach him some manners. In the end she tosses her phone back into her bag and starts the car, heading to the preserve.

“Charming fellow,” Erica says, stretching her feet through the windshield. “He’s always like that?”

Lydia snorts. “I wouldn’t know.”

Derek’s already waiting when they get out of the car, tall and dark in his black leather jacket. Erica whistles appreciatively and mumbles, “No wonder he can get away with being a dick.” Derek’s eyes snap to her.

Interesting, Lydia thinks. He’s either different from most wizard, or he’s using his Sight.

“Oh, you can see me, too,” Erica says with a grin. “That makes things easier. Where’s Boyd?”

Derek stares at her, unblinking. “He can’t see you.”

Erica huffs. “Well, I can see him.”

The moment of silence stretches. Erica’s practically vibrating with impatience when Derek finally nods and calls out for Boyd. A giant brown wolf lunges out of the bush, landing at Derek’s side. Erica’s face lights up in an instant, her eyes shining with tears.

“Fuck, I’ve been so worried - ” She flashes to Boyd’s side, hands hovering over Boyd’s body, miming an embrace that’s no longer possible. “At least they didn’t get you.” A wet choke escapes her throat. “God, I _so_ want to hug you. You can’t even hear me, can you?”

Boyd’s ears twitch as if he’s heard something, but then he cocks his head in confusion. Erica smiles, soft and without edges, tenderness mixed with a touch of wistfulness. Lydia looks away, unable to shake the feeling that she’s intruding on a private moment, and finds Derek doing the same.

“Anyway for him to see her?” Lydia asks in a whisper. Derek looks over at her for a while, and then at Boyd. He kneels down beside Boyd, talking quietly into his ear. Lydia can’t make out the words from the distance, only that it is a question, and Derek’s waiting for an answer. Boyd nods with something close to desparation. Derek asks him again, eyes intent and serious. Boyd nudges his snout against Derek’s arm and whines.

“Is there any side effect?” Erica asks, her face a war zone of conflicted emotions. “Don’t give it to him if there is.”

“None when used the right way.” Derek pulls out a small vial of blue liquid from the chest pocket of his jacket. He opens the cap and carefully pours out a few drops into his cupped hand. Boyd shoves his mouth into Derek’s hand and licks.

Erica stands frozen before them, eyes wide and eyebrows furrowed, staring, while Boyd’s blinking and shaking his head. There’s a moment of strained silence, but then Boyd’s eyes find Erica and he yips, rushing and skipping around her, tails waggling in a way more like a dog than a wolf. Erica laughs, bright and carefree for the first time since Lydia found her in school.

Lydia walks to Derek’s side, smiling slightly at the girl and the wolf currently engaging in a conversation with words on Erica’s side, and barks and body language on Boyd’s side. It’s hard not to be affected by this display of affection, even though Lydia knows this is only temporary, and the ending has already been written.

She expects to see Derek scowling. She even expects to see Derek smiling. What she sees instead are a twisted curve of lips and a pair of eyes with too much pain for someone of his age. There’s a flicker of light at the corner of her eye. He sucks in a breath and holds it for a moment.

“Tell me everything,” he says quietly.

Lydia smothers the pity welling up in her heart. That won’t help any of them right now. “That’s why we’re here.”

She remembers the memory Erica shared with her like it was her own. She died watching Boyd falling apart, and all she could think about was she would not abandon her friend. She wouldn’t let anything, even her own death, stop her from protecting him. She fought. Against what, she didn’t really know, but a voice called out to her, and suddenly she was staring at a woman, her skin as fair as snow, her hair the color of dried blood, and her eyes bright like ambers. She smiled at her and told her how strong and fascinating her soul was, her voice cutting into her consciousness like cold wind. “A chance to right the wrong done to your friend,” she offered, asking for her soul afterwards in exchange. All she could think about at the moment was “Fair enough.”

Lydia isn’t as sure if it is a fair deal, but she doubts Erica would have changed her mind even if she had thought it unfair.

“Her exact words,” Derek says. There’s a flicker of light again, and Lydia’s gaze snaps to the source. It’s the bracelet Allison has mentioned to her with a pained look. Derek shoves his left hand into his pocket and scowls at her. “Tell me.”

“Since you ask so nicely,” Lydia says dryly. “Her memory is a little fuzzy at times, but this is what she remembers - _I offer you the time you need to help your loved ones. In exchange, your flesh and blood would be mine to use, your mind mine to command, and your soul mine to preserve._ ”

Derek’s frown deepens. His eyebrows are going to merge if he frowns any harder.

“So, you know who she is?” Erica asks. She’s finished her conversation with Boyd, which ended with her miming a blowjob and Boyd choking rather violently. “I don’t know why, but she rubbed me the wrong way. I mean, she is hot, and normally I wouldn’t mind someone like her rubbing me, but there’s something off about her.” Boyd barks at her. She flashes him a wide grin. “I’m kidding. You know I love you.”

Derek rubs at his temple. “I’ll take care of it.”

Lydia raises an eyebrow at him. “Mind telling us what you’re planning to do? I don’t think the sheriff would appreciate it if you end up dead by the end of the day.”

Derek gives her an annoyed huff. “I’ll tell him myself.” He bends down to pick up Erica’s skull. “I’ll take them back. It’s safer.”

“Make sure you do.” Lydia quirks her lips. “And I’ll like to see how your place is safer, if you don’t mind. It’s a sad side effect of sharing memories with a ghost. I grow rather protective sometimes, however reluctant I am.”

Erica rolls her eyes and throws Lydia the memory of a particular heated make out session she had with Boyd. Lydia refuses to be affected by it, but she must have shown some reaction if Erica’s laughter is anything to go by. “You know, I’ve never thought I’d say this one day, but I think I can grow to like you, Lydia Martin.”

“Why, thank you,” Lydia says and turns to Derek. “Lead the way.”

*

Erica screams when she sees the Hale house.

“How can you live here? Those people, they’re all fucked up. They are - ”

\- charred, disfigured, limbs curled in unnatural angles. Burned alive, her mind supplies.

“And the screams - ”

\- hoarse after hours of nonstop abuse, grating, like nails raking metal.

A sharp breath breaks Lydia out of her trance. The bodies suddenly disappear and the scream stops. She turns around and sees blood dropping from Derek’s hand. The man himself stands frozen, his muscles taut and his breathing shallow. Lydia takes a step away from Erica, trying to block out the images and sounds she’s projecting.

“ _Erica_ ,” Lydia shouts at her. “ _Stop!_ ”

“I - ” She lets out a shuddering breath. “Fuck. I have to - ” She disappears back into her skull. Lydia sighs. What Erica saw aren’t ghosts. She would have seen them herself if they were ghosts. She’s only seeing them through Erica’s eyes. It’s the other side of the world, most likely.

“I’ll take her to the Argent house. The wards are secure enough, aren’t they?”

Derek simply nods without looking at her.

“How about Boyd?”

Derek shakes his head. Lydia waits for him to tell her his reason, but Derek’s mouth stays shut.

“I’ll need to give her some explanation. Is it about helping him change back?”

Derek looks at her, surprised, but then quickly turns away.

“All right.” Lydia takes Erica’s skull out of Derek’s grip. She pauses when she’s half turned her back to him and looks back. “Be careful, whatever you’re going to do.”

Derek nods, and Lydia leaves, forcing the echo of pain and agony out of her mind.

 


	4. Scars

Derek walks.

A sense of dread clings to him as he marches through the Way. He doesn’t fear the Nevernever. Never has. His mom had led his family through all the different Ways too many times for him to feel anything but familiarity, even nostalgia. He is cautious, since his magic is bound, but what scares him isn’t the place.

No, what scares him is who he’s going to meet, and it makes him mad. He can’t afford to show her his fear. She is dangerous enough as she is. He can’t let her see any of his weaknesses.

_ She owes me _ , he reminds himself.  _ She has to honor her debts, and that puts her at a disadvantage _ .

“Leanansidhe,” Derek calls out. “ _ Leanansidhe _ , I, wizard Hale, request an audience with you.”

He barely stops himself from freezing up when he hears a chuckle coming from behind him. He turns to see one of the women of his nightmares looking at him with a faint smile. Objectively he knows she is beautiful, but when he sees her, all he feels are fear and overwhelming anger.

He reaches for the mark and breathes in tandem with the pulsing of the link. It gives him strength to school his expression into boredom and aloofness before inclining his head in greeting.

“No need for such formality, my dear god son.” She reaches out a hand to touch his cheek. The icy fingers make think of the same fingers digging into his skin to hurt and bruise and take, but he somehow manages to maintain his mask without flinching or snarling.

“I insist.” Derek twists his lips into a fake smile. “I heard you made a deal with a girl a few days ago. I only hope it is nothing like the one you made with me.”

“Oh, my child," she murmurs. He would say it is regret he sees in her eyes if he didn't know better. "I was not myself when I made the deal with you. It was never my intention to hurt you.”

Derek barks out a sharp laugh. “I don’t care. It’s not a question I want to waste the debt on.”

She sighs. “You want information about the girl’s attackers.”

“And why you got involved.” Derek takes a step to the side, eyes fixed on Leanansidhe. “Promise thrice you will not mislead me in any way.”

She hums. “I won’t be able to give you as much information if I do.”

“Do it.”

She looks at him, her face a perfect mask of compassion, like the one he saw on her years ago. He reaches deeper into the link, holding on to the warm presence on the other side to quell the disgust welling up in his throat.

“Very well,” she says. “I promise to speak the truth and not to mislead you regarding your questions about Erica Reyes and her attackers. I promise. I promise.”

It surprises him how easily Leanansidhe gives in to his request. He knows she can't outright refuse him, but he still expects her to at least try to bargain. It unsettles him, not knowing her agenda.

She didn't promise not to mislead him about other things, though. That he's noticed.

"I know the attackers are a group of Red Court vampires, but they haven't come into town until recently. What changed?"

"One of the two protectors of this place is kept away, and the other one remain crippled. However willing he is to sacrifice himself, he can't fight everyone on his own."

He hasn't heard from Chris ever since he was called away by the Council. He hasn't exactly tried very hard to contact him, but it is curious what has been so urgent that he got called away so soon after his family moved here.

"The Council won't sit by if they're killing innocents."

"Won't they?" She pulls her lips into a mocking smile. "You have saved two innocents from vampires in the past few months. Where was your Council then?"

Derek frowns. He doesn't trust the Council, but not all of the members are heartless bastards. And there's the fact that the Council hasn't sent anyone to take up Chris's job as the district's warden, or the warden hasn't been doing their job. It seems like someone is trying to keep Beacon Hill defenseless, and that someone knows Derek would never ask the Council for help.

"Someone from the Council's working with them."

Leanansidhe smiles. "That's too big an answer for me to give." But her expression is telling enough.

"What do they want? Beacon Hill doesn't exactly have a lot to offer for their needs."

"Some of them are business men. Blood for blood. Power for power."

A deal. Probably with that someone from the Council. What would anyone from the Council want in Beacon Hill, though? The only possibilities he can think of are Stiles and his family - no,  _ him _ . He has no family, not anymore.

But no one in Council knows about Stiles except for Chris, he has made sure of it. It's him, then.

"You got involved because of your Oath of Featly. You're obligated to protect me."

She purses her lips. "Yes."

So it is him. He forces himself to breathe steadily. The vampires are here because someone wants to get rid of him. People died simply because Derek is here, and it's so unfair that even his mere existence endangers people. He's finally settling down the way he never really did in New York, because he always knew Laura would come back to Beacon Hill one day, and Peter was here. Will it ever end? And when?

"You didn't get involved three months ago."

"I was being treated by my Queen for an ailment, which had been affecting my behavior." Derek huffs in disbelief, and Leanansidhe's calm mask finally cracks, showing a hint of irritation. "Want to ask me three times, godson? You will be wasting thrice the time for a simple question."

"Simple question?" Derek lets out a broken laugh. "You mean why you forced me to choose between death and torture? When the price has already been paid? Even you being fae can't excuse that." He bites back more of the words threatening to escape his mouth. He can't have her know. She can never know how he remembers everything that day. How her ice-cold mouth hurt and her fingernails scarred. How her image blended together with Kate and made everything even worse than it already was. How the marks she left on his body hadn't healed until months later, and the ones on his mind never has.

His magic boils up in his body, trying to break free. When the sharp pain pulls him out of his memory, it is one of the few times he is actually thankful for the bracelet, or he would have attacked her then and there. Were his magic free, he might even succeed in killing her.

"I have no other questions. Consider the debt paid or not, I don't care." Derek steps around her to leave, gripping his knife tightly. She has the audacity to try to touch him,  _ again _ . Derek snarls at her, and his magic lashes out, catching her hair in a burst of flame. He doesn't even register the pain this time, his mind clouded by rage and hatred.

"Now the debt was paid." Leanansidhe puts out the fire easily. Of course it is easy. Derek probably can't even take on the smaller wyldfae in this state. He growls and keeps on walking, his vision hazy with blood loss, but his stride, fueled with anger, never falters.

"Derek," Leanansidhe calls out after him - no, she whispers, but the wind carries her voice to his ear, intimate like a lover's words. It makes him want to both scream and cry at the same time, and he dives into the link desperately, trying to drown himself in the familiar warmth - Stiles is awake now, he notices. He feels guilty for waking the boy up in this ungodly hour, but also comforted by the apparent concern Stiles is projecting. He wonders if it makes him selfish to want to keep the connection, or only human.

"Sometimes you need to give the dark a taste of the light to defeat it" is what he hears last before he cuts open the Way and runs.

*

Stiles is sitting on his porch when he gets back to his house. He's about to point out how late it is and Stiles really shouldn't be out here alone when he notices that Stiles isn't alone. The sheriff's leaning against the doorframe with Boyd lying at his feet.

"Sorry," he says, because he doesn't know what else he can say, and he can't seem to do anything other than standing there, staring at his shoes. He wants to hold them and be held. He wants to run and keep them as far away from him as possible.

He hears the soft rustling of grass, and the steady but faster than average heartbeats approaching. The pulsing of the link grows stronger the closer Stiles is to him, and he probably should have run a moment ago; now it's too late. Stiles is too close to him. The heat radiated from both the boy and the link pulls at him. He's too weak to step back now. The most he can do is stopping himself from walking forward.

"Sorry," he says again, barely a whisper. He doesn't know for sure what he's apologizing for, doesn't even know who he's apologizing to. For waking them up, perhaps, or being a danger to everybody around him, or being selfish enough to want this life, and not strong enough to deny himself it.

Stiles’s shoes step into his sight. Then a pair of arms wrap around his body and hold him. Derek finds himself pulling Stiles closer, burying his face into Stiles’s shoulder. He closes his eyes and breathes, feeling the steady rise and fall against his chest and the soothing hands rubbing his back.

“I saw her,” Stiles mumbles, tightening his arms when Derek freezes up at his words. “I didn’t meant to pry, but it sort of… leaked into my head?”

He was too close, too deep, and holding his memory in his surface thoughts with too much emotions. It has happened before. He knew it acould happen. “My fault.”

“Dude,” Stiles starts, but doesn’t say anything else.

When Derek feels another set of hands, bigger, rougher, rest on his shoulders, he isn’t sure how long he’s been holding the man’s son in his arms. He flushes in embarrassment and pulls away, but Stiles’s hand lingers on the small of his back. The fiery anger and protectiveness he both feels and sees in Stiles anchor him, and he finally stops feeling like he’s falling apart.

“Come on,” the sheriff says. “You need shower, and sleep. Both you can do at our place.”

Derek probably should tell them he’d rather be alone, but he only nods, and lets them lead him into the car.

*

He stares as water washes off the blood on his arm and brings it into the drain. It’s a wonder that he can still walk on his own. Maybe his body is getting used to these bursts of blood loss, and can now function with only half of his blood in his body.

That would be useful, he thinks. Even if one day he gets the bracelet off, he doubts he will stop encountering situations where he ends up bleeding out somewhere, probably alone, preferably alone.

He walks into the guest room, toweling his hair, and finds Stiles standing at the window, elbows on the sill, watching over the street below. For a moment, Derek simply stares, marveling at how much Stiles has grown even in the short three months Derek has known him - god, has it only been three months? It feels longer, much longer - He knows Stiles is still a bench-warmer like Scott, but the regular practice shows on his body. He seems wider now, and his muscles lean but more defined. He’s growing into his hands, and it’s fascinating, to be with someone long and often enough to see them change, not fundamentally, but into more of themselves.

He’d been a witness to Cora’s change. She would have been about Stiles’ age if she hadn’t -

He shakes his head. A sigh escapes his mouth before he can stop it, and Stiles jumps in response, hitting his head on the window frame. Derek pulls him away from the window before he can do any more damage to himself. Stiles groans, rubbing at the back of his head.

“Dude, are you secretly a ninja or something? Don’t you make sound when you walk?”

He cradles Stiles’s skull to feel around the lump. Stiles winces, and Derek doesn’t think much before he puts a hand on Stiles’s mark to take the pain.

“Derek.” Stiles pushes his hand away.

“I just - ” hate feeling helpless, he doesn’t say. Instead, he hangs the towel on the chair and sits down on the bed, looking up at Stiles. “You should be sleeping.”

"Want to talk to you since my dad doesn't want to tell me about what's going on. Not that you're more likely to tell me, but my dad has a much better poker face."

Derek almost tells Stiles that his poker face is much worse, but Derek refuses to act like a schoolboy. "It's easier to read who you've Soulgazed with."

"Huh, either way - " His eyes flick to Derek wrist and narrow. "Your arm. You were bitten. By the giant wolf you suddenly adopt, I presume."

Derek curses himself for being careless. He forgot to cover it up after he'd showered. "He didn't mean it."

"Of course he didn't. He was worried about you." Stiles pulls the chair at the desk out and sits down. "And since I don't normally feel stuff from non-magical beings, I assume he's not a normal wolf. Werewolf? Why can't he change back?"

Derek sighs. The boy is too bright for his own good sometimes.

"So, you're helping him change back? Is that why you talked to...her?" His tone is so soft at the end it's almost unbearable. In the quiet room Derek can hear his heavy heartbeats and the slight hitch of breath. _ He is afraid _ , Derek realizes, and that, somehow, makes it easier to think about Leanansidhe.

"A fae has to honor her debt."

"Is she the one who changed him? But the werewolf hasn't changed back. You asked for something else. Plus, my dad had Donnelly bring him files. There has to be something else."

Derek wonders if Stiles will be able to piece everything together on his own if he just sits here long enough. Stiles’s been doing just fine so far.

"No, I can’t figure everything out by having conversation with your eyebrows, so will you kindly open your mouth and start talking?”

Derek lies back on the bed. How many nights has he spent in this room? It has become awfully familiar. He can easily navigate around with his eyes close. And the bed, too, feels like a welcoming embrace.

“I want my dad to get his job back, Derek.”

The mattress dips down and a bony hand finds Derek’s wrist. He wonders how Stiles feels when he touches people. He knows Stiles can feel emotions and intentions like they are his own, but how does  _ he _ feel? Does he feel discomfort as much as Derek finds comfort? Does he feel vulnerable as much as Derek feels safe?

“This isn’t related to your dad’s suspension.”

“You can’t know that.” Stiles looms over, looking down at Derek. His eyebrows are knitted so closely Derek feels the urge to smooth it out. Laura used to do that all the time. She would flick his forehead and rub circle between his eyebrows until Derek batted her hand away. “Things happened just as the FBI came digging up Peter’s case? You can’t know for sure that this is only a coincidence.”

“You think the FBI agents are involved.”

Stiles shrugs. “You haven’t seen any of them, right?”

Derek shakes his head.

“Me neither. You can check them with your Sight when they come knocking. Until then, I’m gonna assume they’re up to no good.”

Derek snorts. “Guilty until proven otherwise?”

“A threat until proven otherwise.” Stiles flops down next to Derek with a sigh. Derek doesn’t startle, which is the startling thing to him. The small gap between them does nothing to stop the heat of another warm body from spreading. “It’s my dad.”

He doesn’t turn his head to look at Stiles, but he can imagine the intensity of Stiles’s eyes that stays hidden most of the time. “Okay.”

Stiles bumps their shoulders together. “Thanks.”

Stiles doesn’t need much information from Derek to make sense of the situation, which has stopped being surprising a long time ago. He is, however, strangely thorough about what Derek’s been doing the past few nights.

“So when you said you had someone you couldn’t leave alone, you meant Boyd.”

Derek stares at him, eyebrow raised.

“I thought you had a date!”

Derek frowned. He remembered Stiles’s reaction. “And that made you sad?”

“What? No,” Stiles splutters, his cheeks reddenning. “I just realized, you know, you couldn’t have sex in this state.”

There was an awkward moment of silence where Derek isn’t sure what exactly he should say about this, and Stiles’s busy trying to smother himself with the pillow. “That may be the furthest thing from my mind right now.”

Stiles extracts his head from the pillow, his hair sticking out in every direction. “Dude, you can’t even jerk off. I can’t go two days without, let alone five years.”

“It wasn’t that hard when you got shocked whenever you were aroused,” Derek says dryly. He knows it’s the wrong thing to say as soon as the words leave his mouth. Stiles looks half-horrified and half-furious, and then the look on his face turns into determination.

“If you want to I can just, you know, hold your hand or something.”

Stiles is being absolutely serious, but his flushed face turns a deeper red. Derek can’t be blamed for the disbelieving laugh he lets out. This might be the most bizzare conversation he’s ever had.

“I’m serious! I mean, I’m being a good friend, giving you a hand and all.” Then he seems to realize how it sounds, and his blush becomes even deeper. “I’m not offering to jerk you off or anything,” he clarifies in a rush and shoves his head back into the pillow. “Oh god why didn’t you stop me from talking?”

Derek can’t help but laugh. A sound so carefree and bright that it startles even himself. He doesn’t stop laughing when the bracelet glows and the pain starts. He doesn’t stop when Stiles hits him with the pillow and takes his hand in his. He doesn’t stop when his voice gets hoarse and his stomach hurts.

He stops when Stiles suddenly leans in and kisses him.

His brain goes completely blank at that moment. All he can see are warm eyes hooded by long, long eyelashes. All he can feel are the soft lips against his. Memories of past experiences swarm into his mind and try to take over, but the humming link keeps them at bay. In the split second before reality crushes back in, Derek feels happy.

Then old instinct kicks in, and he jerks away, staring at Stiles with wide eyes.

“Shit.” Stiles stumbles off the bed. “Shit, I’m sorry. I just - I wasn't - ” He bursts out of the door, leaving Derek in the room with a turmoil of emotions warring in his head. Derek can only stare at the open door and fight the panic of losing what little he has. He doesn’t know what Stiles wants. He doesn’t know what he can give.

He closes off the link between them and runs away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That kiss wasn't supposed to happen. I keep going back and forth, but in the end decided to run with it. Hope I won't regret my decision.


	5. Marks

Stiles doesn’t sleep that night.

He doesn’t know how to consciously reach for the mark, since Derek has never taught him to, but he can always sense where Derek is - no, could. He could sense where Derek was. Not long after he ran to his bedroom, however, that feeling disappeared completely. It’s like suddenly losing his sense of smell. It doesn’t hit him until he realizes the absence of what should be there. He pulls up his shirt, expecting to see nothing on his lower stomach, but the triskelion is still fully intact, intricate lines spreading across his skin.

That helps him calm down a little. He somehow finds the courage to drag himself back to the guest room, but Derek is already gone.

“Fuck.” He marches toward the bed. The stupid mattress still has a dent in the middle, an impression of Derek’s and Stiles’ weight. He lies down. The clean smell of soap and ocean and sunlight -  _ Derek _ , his terrible mind supplies - lingers. It’s all he can do not to bury his face in and take a greedy breath.

He’s fucked up. He’s fucked up so completely. Derek has just faced his - his abuser, for fuck’s sake. How was that a good time to kiss him? Why couldn’t he control himself? Will there ever be a good time to kiss Derek?

He smothers himself with the good old pillow. Derek just looked so good when he was laughing. He laughed with his whole face, eyes narrow and crinkling, eyebrows relaxed. Every lines, every minute difference, suggested a smile and made him look so much younger. Stiles had already pressed their lips together before he realized what he was doing.

He has always known his mouth is going to fuck things up someday, but he never expects himself to ruin everything with a kiss.

_ I’m sorry. Please don’t go. _ He stares at his phone and deletes the words he’s just typed. Without the heat of the mark he feels oddly cold.  _ Please don’t run away from me. I don’t need anything from you.  _ Save as draft. Delete it.

_ Stay, please. _

He doesn’t fall asleep. Instead, he falls into a haze of furious typing and restless toss and turn. When the sun goes up he’s still staring at the colorless phone screen. He hasn’t had a lick of rest.

_ Please talk to me. _ He hits send, and spends half an hour cursing his sleep-deprived brain.

*

“What happened?” His dad asks. He’s probably referring to the ridiculous amount of food on the table. Stiles stares at the scrambled eggs he’s stirring. Maybe he should stop. He has made enough food to feed a baseball team.

“Stiles, what happened between you and Derek?”

Stiles curses when he almost drops the pan. “Nothing.”

“Right, that’s why you’ve been stress-cooking breakfast for hours and Derek is nowhere to be seen.” His dad pauses. “Taste good, though.”

“Thanks,” Stiles says dryly. “Maybe I should bribe the FBI with food into giving you your job back.”

“Son.”

Stiles sighs. “I screwed up, okay?” He turns off the stove and puts the pan on the table. “I’ll fix it, I swear.”

His dad is silent for a moment. “Is it something I would normally ground you for?”

Stiles snorts. “No.”

“Should I talk to him?”

“Definitely not.”

“All right.” His dad sits down and picks up a sandwich. It probably says something about Stiles’ state of mind that he’s put bacon and cheese in pretty much  _ everything _ .

“Just this once,” Stiles says. He grabs a spoon and eats the scrambled eggs straight from the pan. “You are eating nothing but greens for the next few weeks.”

His dad glares at him from behind the huge sandwich. He may have overdone that one. “What did I do to deserve the punishment?”

“You had a heart attack.”

“You had a heart attack, too. Not too long ago.”

“Magically-induced. That doesn’t count.”

They fall into silence. Not exactly uncomfortable, but not really companionable, either. Stiles is rarely quiet around his dad when he can help it. Maybe that’s one of the reasons his dad likes Derek, too. Derek’s good at filling the silence with nothing but his presence.

“The FBI will come to question you later,” his dad says. “I can’t stay with you because I’m under investigation, but I’ve asked Melissa to come.”

Stiles nods. “What about Derek?”

“He’s twenty-three.” His dad shrugs, but Stiles can see from his frown that he’s worried. “He can of course ask for a lawyer. I doubt he will.”

“Yeah.”

What if Derek loses control and starts hurting? What if he loses too much blood? What if the FBI agents really are involved in Erica’s murder and Boyd’s forced transformation? What if they are the ones who want to kill Derek?

“Stiles.” His dad’s voice is much closer than he expected. Then a pair of arms wrap around his shoulders.

“Sorry,” he mutters. “I’m just worried.”

“He had been taking care of himself for a while.” His dad claps his back. “But I’ve asked Donnelly to keep an eye on him.”

Stiles manages a smile. “I don’t imagine Donnelly is too pleased about that.”

His dad chuckles. “You’d be surprise.”

*

“Are you having an early Thanksgiving?” Mrs. McCall sits down at the dining table and pulls the bowl of chicken salad to herself. “This is good,” she says after a bite. “Your dad has no taste.”

“I can hear you,” his dad says from his sprawl on the couch. “I’ll have you know his bacon and cheese sandwich is great.”

“Bacon and cheese?” Mrs. McCall quirks an eyebrow at Stiles. “What’s the special occasion?”

Stiles shrugs. “Nothing.” He shoves his hand into his pocket, resisting the urge to check his phone again.

“He had a fight of some sorts with Derek,” his dad says. “Stress-cooking.”

Mrs. McCall hums, thoughtful. “Should I have a talk with him?”

“No!” Stiles throws his hands up, barely missing his mug. “I’ll talk to him later, okay?”

Mrs. McCall opens her mouth to say something, but she’s interrupted by three succinct knocks on the door. She’s about to answer the door, but Stiles stops her.

“Don’t say anything to invite them in, okay?” he mutters, keeping his voice low. “Precaution.”

Mrs. McCall exchanges a look with his dad. His dad nods at her.

Stiles walks up to the door and opens it. Behind it is a woman with dark long hair and olive skin. She smiles at him, wide and warm, but her body radiates coldness. Stiles barely suppresses his shudder.

“Mr. Stilinski,” she says. “I’m agent Kali Jones. May I come in?”

“Identification?”

“Surely your father can vouch for me.” She shakes her head, but takes out a badge to humor him. Stiles stares at the ID. He knows his dad must have verified all the agents’ identities, but it never hurts to memorize her agent number.

“You alone?” Stiles takes a step to the side. It looks like an invitation to come in for most people, but Jones doesn’t move. Instead, she cocks her head and stares at him, their eyes a hair away from meeting.

“My partner is questioning your friend. Agent McCall is needed elsewhere.”

Stiles nods and takes a step back. Jones is blatantly staring at him now, clearly amused with his antics. Stiles waits. He’s now eighty-percent sure she either can’t get through the threshold or doesn’t want to. Both possibilities can have terrible implications.

“Mr. Stilinski, let’s not drag this on any longer. The sooner we can clear things up, the sooner your father can get back to work.”

Stiles bites his lips to stop himself from saying anything he’ll regret and takes another step back. Her smiles never falters.

“Don’t make this any harder than it should be.”

Stiles grabs the leather coat from the rack and swings it around his shoulder. The necklace remains warm and heavy on his chest despite everything that has happened. “How about we stay where we are and talk?” He sits down on the floor. “Would you like coffee?”

His dad is asked to leave the house once Jones agrees to their seating arrangement. Stiles gives him a hug and shoves his phone into his dad’s hand.  _ Can’t or doesn’t want to get through threshold,  _ he’s typed on the phone.  _ Possibly a vampire. _ His dad doesn’t betrays any of his thoughts when he sneaks a glance and tucks the phone back into Stiles’s pocket.

“See you later, son.” His dad gives his shoulder a squeeze. “Call if you need me.”

“I will.” He watches his dad leave through the backdoor before turning around to face Jones. Mrs. McCall is pouring a cup of coffee for her. “Where do we start?”

“From the beginning, if you don’t mind.” Jones nods her thanks at Mrs. McCall and takes a sip of the coffee. Does it do anything to vampires, or whatever she is? “When was the first time you met Derek Hale?”

“I can’t remember the exact date.” Stiles shrugs. “I met him in the preserve.”

“What were you doing there?”

“Taking a walk.”

“What happened?”

“He told me to get the fuck out of his property. I did.”

She considers him for a moment. “Don’t lie to me, Mr. Stilinski.”

Stiles wonders if she can hear his heartbeats, or if he has other tells she can see. That will be inconvenient. “All right, you got me. I didn’t leave right away.”

“Why?”

“Have you seen him?” Stiles says. It isn’t hard to play up his attraction to Derek. He does, as he’s figured out two days ago and proved yesterday through his stupid action, have a hopeless crush on the man. “And I was curious. He hadn’t been back for years.”

“Did you suspect that he was involved in his sister’s murder?”

“Seriously? Aren’t you supposed to ask open questions?” Stiles shakes his head. “No, I didn’t suspect him of anything other than being an asshole.”

“His sister’s heart was found in his kitchen.”

Stiles snorts. “The anonymous tip was much more suspicious if you ask me. Pretty sure it was Jennifer Williams.”

“You had an awful lot of faith in someone you barely knew.”

“I’m a teenager. I don’t always think with my head.” Stiles pulls his lips into a wry smile. “Well, the other head, maybe.”

“Cute.” Jones folds her arms on her laps. “You were, however, the only one in the bookstore when Kyle Anderson died.”

Stiles laughs. Seriously? First Chris, now the FBI? “You think I killed him because, what, I had a crush on Derek? I’m not that easy.” Stiles brushes his hair back. “You are wasting all of our time, agent Jones. We both know you don’t give a damn about Peter’s murder spree, so what about you stop asking stupid questions or go home?”

Mrs. McCall nudges him with her elbow. Stiles knows he’s gone a little too far. He should just answer her questions and try to gather more information, but God he’s so tired and incredibly worried about Derek. He hopes Donnelly is watching Derek like his dad’s said.

“You are either really brave,” Jones says, “Or really foolish.”

Stiles smirks. “Both, of course.”

Jones smiles. It looks perfectly harmless, but something about it sends a chill down his spine. “Peter Hale’s method of murder seems improbable. Why would your father lie in his report?”

“You know full well how Peter killed.”

She hums. “You see, the improbable often seems impossible for most people. And the impossible is even harder to swallow. Doubt can be spread so quickly, but so hard to kill.”

Stiles springs to his feet and takes quick strides toward Jones. Mrs. McCall’s hand is warm on his shoulder, pulling him back, but he knows, without a doubt, that she is as furious as he is.

“What do you want?”

Jones smiles at him, pleased. “Would he come running for you, I wonder.”

Of course Derek will. Even though there isn’t a link between them for the moment, even though Stiles has done something stupid, he knows Derek will do everything he can to protect him, to protect anyone.

“More importantly, would he not fight back for you?”

Death curse. They’re worried about Derek’s death curse.

“Would you sacrifice such a big part of your father for someone you’ve known only for three months?”

That’s where she’s miscalculated. Because he will, he really will, and his dad is more than willing to give up his reputation for Derek’s life. It’s no competition, really, no matter how much it’d hurt.

“Please leave. I’ve heard quite enough.” His voice is colder than it has ever been. Stiles wasn’t born to be menacing, and has never been. He’s too gangly, his features too soft, his voice too thin, but for a brief moment, Jones actually looks wary of him.

“A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Stilinski,” Jones says with a pleasant smile, her hand extended.

“Goodbye, agent Jones.” Stiles gestures at the sky. “Save me the trouble and go get yourself toasted by the sun choking on garlics and holy water.”

He slams the door close, his breathing heavy. He doesn’t notice the tremor of his fingers until Mrs. McCall takes his hands to steady them.

“I probably shouldn’t be encouraging this kind of behavior,” she says, pulling him into a hug, “but I’m incredibly proud of you right now. I’ll have to use that line someday.”

“Oh, no,” Stiles says with a laugh. “Please don’t. My dad will ground me forever if I manage to corrupt you too.”

“I’m plenty corrupted already, thank you.” Mrs. McCall pulls away, her hands still on his shoulders. “Do you think they’ll use Scott?”

Stiles shakes his head. “I don’t think they know about his involvement. He’s never been in any official record.”

“Good.” She smoothes out his ruffled hair. “I should probably go check on him before he destroyed everything in our house. His dad will visit.” She lets go of him. “You coming?”

“I’ll go find my dad. Not before I see you back home, though.”

She looks at him for a moment, a warm smile tugging at her lips. “You are a great son.” She drops a kiss on his forehead.

Stiles blinks back the burn of his eyes. “You are a great mom.”

*

He finds his dad’s car across from the station. Stiles knocks on the window and waves. His dad rolls down the window.

“You okay?”

“They want to kill Derek. The only thing stopping them now is Derek’s death curse.” His dad breathes out a string of swear words he rarely uses. Stiles can relate to him. “They are most likely also responsible for Erica and Boyd. Sounds like they're trying to keep Scott’s dad in the dark with your investigation.”

“They are. Rafe has been revisiting the crime scenes all day.” His dad pauses. A wry smile crawls onto his face. “Derek told you about Erica and Boyd, huh?”

“I had a conversation with his eyebrows.” Stiles looks over to the station then turns back. “How's he?”

“Quiet, but that's nothing new.” His dad pulls up his phone. “Donnelly also says that he looks worried, and that he keeps rubbing his back.”

Stiles purses his lips. “I'm going in.”

His dad holds his eyes and nods. “Be careful.”

Donnelly is there to greet him when he gets in. He smiles like he fully expects Stiles to show up at some point and leads him into the sheriff’s office.

“Agent Denton is still questioning Hale. I'd let you watch, but that man has unnaturally good hearing.” He waves a paper bag at him. “Thanks for breakfast, by the way.”

“Did my dad bribe you?” Stiles plops into the couch. “Can you go back to check on him? I'll wait here.”

“Don't worry. I'll keep an eye on your boyfriend.” Donnelly chuckles at Stiles’ sound of protest. “I've known you since you were a midget, Stiles.”

Stiles smothers a groan. “Just go keep him alive.”

“As you wish.” He ruffles Stiles’ hair and leaves.

Stiles hugs his legs to his chest, resting his chin on his knees. He doesn't know what he should do in the meantime. He doesn't know what he should say to Derek when he sees him. His crush can wait, Stiles tells himself. What's important now is dealing with the threats.

Derek will have known what Jones’s partner is. His dad’s looking into the transfer students. Jones might just be the woman who transformed Boyd. What's happened is pretty clear, but how should they deal with them? If they really are all some kind of vampires, Derek alone won't be enough. But someone from the Council is helping the bad guys; they can't be trusted.

He needs to know for sure what every one of them is.

The door slams open, jerking him out of his trance. He jumps up to his feet, letting Donnelly dump Derek onto the couch. He reflexively reaches for Derek’s hand when he sees the flickering light, but Derek flinches like he's been burned.

“Derek - “

Derek shakes his head, his movement rigid with pain. His blood is starting to soak through his shirt. 

“Are you hurt?” Donnelly asks. He grabs Derek’s arm and pulls the sleeve up. “There's no wound. Where does the blood come from? Pores?”

Stiles moves his hand over Derek’s arm, almost touching. Derek takes a deep breath and shakes his head again.

“One minute.”

Stiles curls his hand into a fist to keep himself from reaching out. “Thirty seconds.”

“It’s not a fucking bargain,” Derek says through clenched teeth.

“It’s only your fucking  _ life _ ,” Stiles snaps, suddenly angry, both with Derek and himself. Why couldn’t he have stopped himself yesterday? You don’t go around kissing people you’re attracted to. He sure has never done something like that. And why can’t Derek understand this is about more than Stiles’ stupid crush? They’re friends. Friends don’t let the other bleed to death.

Derek shuts his eyes and curls into himself. “I can’t just - I can’t need someone like this.”

Stiles’ breath hitches, and his anger leaves him just as suddenly as it came. _Derek needs him_. He feels like a terrible person for being happy about it, but he can’t deny the quickening pace of his heartbeats. He shakes his head and kneels down before Derek, laying his hands on either side of Derek’s thighs. _Don’t do anything stupid,_ he tells himself, staring at Derek’s bloody arm. _Don’t take advantage._ _Don’t make his life any harder than it already is._

“I’m doing this for myself. I hate blood. I might faint if there’s too much blood.”

That wins him a snort. “You’ll get that terrible thing off one day,” Stiles continues to say, “and you won’t - ” He swallows. “You won’t need me anymore. Or you’d find someone you trust to have the mark. Or I’d lose this - whatever this thing I can do is.” God, the mark. How is it he’s let himself get so used to the steady warmth of the link between them? He’s lost it for less than a day and he’s missed it already. And he doesn’t even know how to reach for it. He never really knows what Derek feels or sees except for the occasional glimpse when Derek was hurting or dying. “This is, like, go to the hospital when you get stabbed. Sure, you can take care of your injury yourself, but it’s preferable and completely logical to have a doctor do it for you.”

Derek’s laugh is short and abrupt, but it’s still a laugh. Stiles flips his hand, palm up, finding the hazel eyes that are now looking down at him.

Derek finally, finally takes his offered hand, and Stiles feels a rush of relief even when pain and tangled emotions spreads from their linked hands. He in no way enjoys Derek’s plight, but the sharp pain is something familiar, something he’s much better at dealing with.

“So, he’s okay now?” Donnelly asks, and Stiles almost jumps. He’s forgotten that the man is even in the room with them.

“Yeah, um,” he says and shoots Derek a look. Derek nods in response. “This is going to sound crazy, but it’s all true.” He climbs onto the couch to sit beside Derek, keeping their fingers intwined. “He’s a wizard. I’m magical in a different way. Agent Kali Jones and her partner want to kill him.”

Donnelly stares at them. “That actually makes so much sense right now.”

Stiles blinks. “That’s it?”

“What, you want me to ask how high you are and demand proof from you when I’ve already seen some weird shits myself?” Donnelly leans against the desk, smirking. “Let’s skip that part. I’ve already sat through your little drama here; I’m not so eager to start one myself.”

“ _ Donnelly _ ,” Stiles says in a tone harsher than he aims for. Christ, did he just  _ growl _ ? “Just, it’s complicated.”

“Of course it is. You can never settle for simple.” Donnelly shakes his head. “Sheriff Stilinski knows, doesn’t he? He lied in his report because magic was involved.” He lets out a chuckle. “Christ, never thought I’d ever said a sentence like that.” He smoothes his hair back. “So, what are the people who want Derek dead?”

“Denton is a vampire,” Derek says. “Red,” he adds when Stiles turns to him.

“Jones can’t get through threshold.” Stiles thinks back to their brief meeting. Derek will probably whack him when he hears how Stiles has openly antagonized Jones, but she wasn’t exactly subtle herself. “She feels… cold. Physically.”

Derek curses under his breath. Stiles’s pretty sure it’s damn it in Latin. “A Black Court who can walk under sunlight.”

“Oh, that’s bad. That’s really bad. I mean, I don’t know how, but you told me it’s bad, as if you having your guts out wasn’t bad enough.”

“Boys,” Donnelly says. “You lost me again.”

“Um, like, vampire is actually an umbrella term for different creatures.” Stiles pauses, sparing a look at Derek, who seems to have no intention to take over. “There are different courts. Whites are basically incubus. Reds are animals in human skin. Blacks are reanimated corpses. Only the oldest and most powerful among the Blacks can endure sunlight. They’re supposed to be weakened, though.”

“So you have two vampires after your ass - ”

“There are at least two other Reds,” Stiles pipes up.

“Four vampires after you,” Donnelly amends. “How do I fight them?”

“You don’t,” Derek says. “You run to the nearest house and let me deal with them.”

Stiles grimaces. He isn’t exactly a tactful person, but Derek can be so much worse than he is sometimes. Seriously, Donnelly is a police officer. A good one who’s dedicated to his job.

Donnelly, as expected, lets out a sharp laugh and pulls his lips into an even sharper grin. He takes three long strides toward them and looms over Derek, crowding in his - and Stiles’s due to his proximity to Derek - personal space. “It’s my job to protect people, Hale. I won’t run away even if you beg me to, so stop this nonsense and tell me how to deal with them.”

Derek narrows his eyes, eyebrows knitted together. “They are threats from my world.”

“And you are in  _ my _ world,” Donnelly says, jabbing Derek’s chest with his index finger. “You are under my protection as far as I’m concerned.”

Derek stares at Donnelly’s hand and then at his and Stiles’s. His emotions are again a jumbled mess. The disbelief and fear make Stiles want to do something stupid again. Shaking his head, he tightens his grip and shifts closer to Derek instead.

“None of us will just sit by and let you get hurt, Derek. Better get used to it.”

“Listen to the boy,” Donnelly says. “He’s a smart one, even though he doesn’t act like it most of the time.”

“Hey!”

Donnelly smirks and ruffles Stiles’ hair. Then he cuffs the back of Derek’s head in a way that can only be described as affectionate. Derek blinks at him, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Stiles can’t quite smother the laugh bubbling up inside him.

“This is stupid. It’s better if he knows how to defend himself.”

Derek shoots him a glare, but there’s no real heat behind it. Stiles knows that Derek will sooner die than let anyone get hurt, but Derek can’t possibly protect everyone. He knows that Derek knows it too. Derek’s just too stubborn to let anyone share what he considers his burden.

The silence stretches. Finally Derek opens his mouth and says, “If it’s red, cut his stomach open. Black, use object of faith. Doesn’t matter what it is you believe in, as long as you believe.”

Donnelly quirks an eyebrow. “And if I’m a raging atheist?”

Derek snorts. “Anything you strongly believe in.”

“You can always fight them with garlic bread if you don’t have anything,” Stiles adds.

Donnelly laughs, and then after a brief pause, says, “Seriously?”

“As serious as a heart attack.”

“This world is too weird.” Donnelly walks over to the window. “I’ll keep an eye on the FBI and keep the sheriff posted.” He squints through the blinds of the window. “Tell him I'll keep looking into Boyd’s and Reyes’s cases.”

“Thanks, Donnelly.” Stiles gets to his feet, pulling Derek up with him. He's reluctant to let Derek's hand go, but he can't quite hold onto it when Derek’s pulling away.

“We need to talk,” Derek says, and Stiles has to try his best to temp down his panic.

“Okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is getting out of control...


	6. Soul

Derek didn’t know what he expected to see in Stiles’s soul, but he sure as hell never expected to see his mom. Talia Hale looked exactly the same as the day she died, when she admonished Cora for swearing before her younger siblings and kissed Derek on the forehead before he left for school. She smiled at him, warm and wistful, and it hurt; it hurt more than the goddamned bracelet, more than having his bones broken, more than getting his stomach slashed open.

“Mom?” he whispered. His feet were unsteady as they took him forward. His arm stretched out on its own accord and stopped halfway, unable to stop himself from reaching for his mom, but dreading that he’d feel nothing and break the illusion of having her here. “How?”

His mom took his trembling hand and pulled him into a hug. She was warm, warmer than a ghost had any right to be. Derek clutched at her back and buried his face into her neck. The hands smoothing over his back and cradling his head were so familiar he couldn't stop the tears and the choked off sob. Her hands had never been smooth in Derek’s memory, covered with calluses and scars from swords and battles, but there were nothing in the world that made Derek felt more safe.

“I’m sorry, Derek. I’m sorry I can’t be there for you. I’m sorry you have to grow up too quickly and shoulder this without guidance. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you; I had thought we had more time.”

Derek shook his head, or tried to; it was hard to tell when his whole body was shaking. “It’s my fault. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

“Hush, I won’t allow anyone to blame you, especially you yourself.” His mom held him tighter, furious and threatening, but not at him, never at him. “If I had been there she would have hoped she had been dead. She hurt us, hurt you, and is still hurting you.”

Derek let out a whimper that was frankly more than a little embarrassing, but his mom only rubbed at his shoulder blades where his mark was, murmuring comforting words. He broke down and cried for the first time since the night he stopped being a teenager, until his eyes burn and his throat hurt.

“I should have,” he said, his words interrupted by uncontrolled sobs, “Should have told you. You would have known.”

“ _ You _ couldn’t have known.” She pulled away a little to look him in the eyes, holding his face in her hands. “Learn from your past, Derek, but don’t let it stop you from living. The world is an ugly and cruel place, but there are things worth living for, fighting for.”

“I’m just tired. I’m so tired.” Derek leaned into her palm. “You’re all gone.”

“I know, Derek, I know.” She left a dry kiss on his forehead. Derek’s breath hitched when he remembered the last time she’d done this. “But you are not alone. You still have years ahead of you, and it won’t be without hardship, but you will be less alone along the way. You don’t have to shoulder everything on your own.”

It was hard not to think about Stiles, reckless, stubborn, brave, and he didn’t try. What came to mind also, however, was all the ways Stiles could have been killed, and could still be in the future. Away, he should stay as far away from Derek as possible. “Why are you in Stiles’s soul?”

“His mother was a dear friend of mine.” Her smile was sad, but fond. “I saved her once when we were both young, and we had been partners in crime ever since. She wanted her son to have a safe and normal childhood even when she couldn’t be part of his life anymore, so I helped her hide him from the world, and left a piece of myself in him.”

She waved her hand in the air, and a broken piece of mirror floated to them, reflecting the image of a woman with kind eyes and warm smile. Looking around, he realized that they were surrounded by pieces of broken glass, all reflecting snippets of memory of what Stiles held dear to him. Stiles’ mom was a prominent feature, along with the sheriff and Scott. There weren’t a lot of other people in these shards of memory, but there was one - Derek’s heart ached at the sight of it - of Derek pulling him away from Kate. It danced around Derek’s hand like it had a mind of its own. Cautiously, he let it land on his palm, and he was suddenly overwhelmed by gratitude and warmth and his mind shouting  _ safe, safe, safe _ .

When he looked back at his mom, dazed, her smile was unbearably soft. “I’m so proud of you, Derek. I’m so proud of both of you.”

“I just, he is just there,” he said it like it explained everything, and in a way it did. Stiles was there when he was about to be brought in by Chris. Stiles was there when he was being chased by Peter’s creation. Stiles was there when he was going to kill Peter with his own death. And now, now Stiles was saving him from losing control, from hurting anyone. “He is - What is he?”

“Being of pure magic. A bottomless vessel. A conduit between worlds. He can be many things, and many seek to abuse him. Claudia and I, we had tried to piece out what she and her son are, but too much had been lost. We only know that he must not fall into the wrong hand, or there will be a terrible war.” She held his gaze, her lips a thin tight line. “You have to do everything you can to stop that from happening, Derek.”

Staring at the grim line of her mouth, he wondered what she meant by everything.

“His mom,” Derek paused, hesitating, but then he continued, “What killed her?”

“I did, in a way, or I should have.” She looked over to her side, sliding her finger over the reflection of her friend. “A Walker possessed Stiles, and she pulled it into herself, asked me to trap it in her.” She let out a long and jagged breath. “Told me to kill her, but I couldn’t. I wanted to find a way to save her, but the Walker was embedded in her mind, and it destroyed her, slowly.”

Derek stared at her in stunned silence. A  _ Walker _ . And - he looked at the slight tremor of his mom’s hand. She was the strongest person he’d ever known. He’d never seen her hands be anything but steady. “Mom,” he said, holding her hands between his. Her hands used to be so much bigger and stronger than his, but now his were wider, and he had his own share of calluses and scars.

She took a deep breath, and when she looked up at him, she was the Talia people knew again, fierce and invincible. “I sealed him off to hide him, but someday you might need to take off the seal. This is how.” She drew a circle in the air with her finger and pushed the glowing lines to Derek. And suddenly he knew exactly what his mom did and how to undo it. “And this,” she drew a triskelion, “this is everything about the mark.”

Derek gasped as waves of knowledge flowed into him. It was beautiful, the magic behind the mark. Whoever invented it - his great great grandmother, his newfound knowledge told him - was a genius, and god,  _ god _ he did love magic. It had brought deaths and destruction, but it could do so much good and create such wonder.

“I trust you to make good use of what you know.” She brushed his hair back. A smile reappeared on her face. “I’m afraid we’re running out of time now. The last thing you have to know, is to never trust Gerard Argent. He can be even more dangerous than his daughter. Beware of him. Keep Stiles away from him.”

As if on cue, the sky above fractured and broke. “I will.” Derek pulled his mom into a hug again. “I love you, mom.”

“I love you, son.” He was startled by the damp cheek against his neck. He had never seen her cry. “Take care of yourself. Live. Let yourself be happy.”

She shattered into pieces in his arms, and Derek woke up in Stiles’s.

*

“You have no right to keep this from me.”

Stiles’s voice is terribly brittle, like he’s barely holding himself together. Derek doesn’t look at him, because he knows, he just knows that if he does, he can never stop himself from flinching, from apologizing, even from begging for forgiveness. Instead, he walks to the window and stares out of it without a word.

“It’s my mom - it’s - I - ” Stiles’s voice breaks, and Derek has to hold onto the window sill to stop himself from turning around. “Fuck, she was - she - ” Stiles’s breathing is getting harsh and uneven. It hurts to listen to. Derek’s hands are shaking, his fingers leaving dents on the aluminum. He knows it would hurt Stiles. He knew when he first decided not to say anything. “I - It was me.” Stiles sounds like he’s drowning, like he’s struggling for breaths. Derek presses his forehead against the glass. Why is he doing this again?

“ _ Derek _ ,” Stiles chokes out, and Derek simply can’t stop himself anymore. He’s on his knees before Stiles in an instant, hands hovering over Stiles’s shoulder, unsure, helpless. The raw emotions in Stiles’s brown eyes are like a stab to his heart, and suddenly it is hard for him to breathe, too. “ _ I _ killed my mom.”

“No!” Derek lays his hands on either side of Stiles’s neck.

“I - ” Stiles shudders. “It was supposed to be  _ me _ .”

“It was a Walker, an Outsider,” Derek snaps, shifting closer to Stiles. “Even Chris won’t have a chance against it now. You were  _ nine _ .”

“She died because of me!” Stiles shoves at his chest with surprising strength, but Derek doesn’t budge. “I was her  _ illness _ !”

“No.” Derek doesn’t know how to put his thoughts into words; he only knows that Stiles is wrong. How can Stiles possibly think himself guilty for his mom’s death but not Derek for his family? How can Stiles possibly blame himself for something he is a victim of? Derek pulls Stiles into his arms, holding him close. “ _ No _ .”

Stiles clutches at his back, struggling to breathe. Derek leans in and takes a slow, deep breath. He waits for Stiles to inhale before he exhales. Stiles breathes out with him. He does it again. Slowly breathing in and slowly breathing out. Again, and again, and again. Stiles’s body relaxes little by little, until he slumps into his embrace. For a while Derek simply holds him, a hand smoothing along his spine and the other holding the nape of his neck, thumbs rubbing circles.

“This doesn’t go as you’ve planned, does it?” Stiles says, voice hoarse and low, his breaths warm against his cheek. “You asshole.”

Of course Stiles would figure it out.

“I’m not that easy to push away, Derek.” Stiles drops his head on Derek’s shoulder, his hair tickling Derek’s neck. “I’m stubborn like that.”

Derek sighs. “Very.”

Stiles scoffs. “You are one to talk.” After a brief moment of silence, he asks, “Why didn’t you tell me?” so softly it makes Derek’s heart ache.

_ Because I’m a selfish coward _ , he thinks furiously.  _ Because I don’t want to be alone again _ . Stiles somehow picks up on his thoughts without even having to look at him. He wonders what emotions he’s been sending to Stiles. Guilt, most likely, because it’s always there. Fear, perhaps, because if he’s honest with himself, he is terrified of losing what little he has.

“Seriously? You’re worried I’d blame you for my mom’s death? Not everything is your damn fault, Derek.”

“I’m part Outsider,” he murmurs. If he were talking to any other supernatural beings, they’d have been disgusted and scared and outraged, but Stiles didn’t know much about the Outside. Derek’s only mentioned it once or twice in passing, never in details. “We all are - ”  _ Were _ . There’s no one but him, now.

Stiles makes a noise that is half outrage and half exasperation. “You are an even bigger moron if you think that would make me hate you. I thought I’ve made it clear that I don’t care  _ what _ you are. You can grow fangs and claws like Peter, big deal. You’ve never used them to hurt anyone.” He shakes his head. “Part of you aren’t from this world. So what?”

“It drove Peter crazy,“ Derek says. It isn’t exactly the whole truth, since his uncle had always been wild, and his sanity was fractured not by the piece of Outsider in him, but by the fire. He doesn’t want to, however, accept that Peter was capable of all the pains he inflicted on Derek and Laura, and he doesn’t want to even  _ think _ about the possibility that Peter was capable of killing Laura. “It’s possession from the inside. A risk.”

“Kate managed just fine on her own. It doesn’t mean shit. Don’t tell me you think the Council is right to fear you. Think about your family if you are incapable of thinking of yourself fairly, Derek. Did they deserve how they were treated?”

He knows none of them deserves it. He knows. Laura had told him the same thing again and again. It’s just that this line of thoughts always leads to him boiling with rage, and he doesn’t feel safe being angry. It makes him lose control, and that scares him.

“You aren’t better yourself,” Derek mutters. “You thought  _ you _ were responsible.”

Stiles’s arms tighten for a brief moment. “Well, I didn’t think it through.”

“Evidently.” Derek huffs. “Idiot.”

Stiles slaps the back of Derek’s head, which isn’t terribly effective when they’re hugging and only serves to push Derek’s face into Stiles’s neck. Derek’s stubble is apparently tickling or Stiles really is incredibly ticklish if his sudden burst of hysterical laughter is anything to go by.

“Oh god we are both idiots,” Stiles says between fits of laughter. “You only said  _ ‘no’ _ ! I was on the verge of hyperventilation and you only said ‘no’. You really need to expand your vocabulary.”

“Shut up,” Derek grumbles, but the corners of his mouth quirk up on their own.

He suddenly feels stupid for ever trying to run away. What good has it done? He had a sleepless night, almost lost it when Deucaliaon Denton not so subtly threatened to hurt both the sheriff and Stiles, and bled a whole lot. Stiles, if the dark shadow under his eyes is anything to go by, didn’t have much of a good night sleep, either, and almost had a panic attack due to Derek’s trust issues and poor attempt at pushing him away.

“It won’t happen again, you know. It was a moment of weakness. Anyone would want to kiss you.” Stiles’s hand splays flat on his shoulder blades, somehow still warm against the heat of the mark. “Not that I’m just anyone. I have legitimate reasons to be more affected by your stupid face when you laugh.”

Derek finds himself oddly calm despite the mention of what had sent him fleeing last night. Maybe it’s the lack of sleep. Maybe it’s the casual tone Stiles’s using. He snorts and jabs at Stiles’s ribs, which sends Stiles into another fit of laughter.

“This is foul play!” Stiles squirms and shoves Derek away. Derek lets himself fall back onto the floor and allows himself a smile. Stiles lies down next to him. “I didn’t share my weakness with you to have you use it against me.”

Derek hums and pokes at Stiles again. Stiles slaps his hand away with a bright laugh and a breathless “Jerk.”

Everything feels so easy and so  _ right _ Derek almost opens up their link again, but he needs to know how their link is affecting both of them. He needs to let Stiles know how it is affecting himself. Derek feels the lack of it like a missing limb, and he wonders if Stiles feels something similar, but that feeling would go away. It has to.

“Hey, isn’t a Walker crazy powerful or something?”

Derek doesn’t turn to look, but he can feel Stiles’s eyes on him.  “Yes.”

“My mom was able to pull a Walker out of me. Shouldn’t I be able to pull whatever spell Boyd’s under out of him?”

Derek wants to say no, but he suspects Stiles will be able to tell that he’s lying. Besides, he doesn’t have a fail-proof alternative to release Boyd from the spell. He’s not beyond killing the spellcaster when needed, but that won’t help if the spell is anchored to something else.

_ You have everything you need to break the spell _ , Deaton has said. Derek has long stopped wondering how the hell his once mentor knows anything. It worries him, however, that Deaton knows about Stiles. Deaton is always more concerned about the big picture than about individuals. His new responsibility as the Gatekeeper would only make him more obsessed with balance and the greater good.

“It’s possible.”

Stiles sits up and grins at him. “What are we waiting for, then?”

*

The effect of Stiles’s touch is instantaneous. The wire around Boyd's wrist immediately loosen, and Boyd whines before burrowing himself into Stiles's arms. Stiles lets out a soft "oof" as he topples back onto the floor with Boyd on top of him. It isn't enough to breaks the spell, but the skin around Boyd is less suffocating.

"Is it - ?"

Derek shakes his head. Stiles seems disheartened, but then Boyd nuzzles his neck with a content noise and Stiles laughs. Derek suspects Boyd would purr if he were a cat.

"It's working, but the pulling needs to be more focused. I don't know much about your ability, but I'll find a way." Stiles went through his ward without breaking it, which is unheard of, at least to Derek. He might be able to guide Stiles's focus with something more tangible. "Boyd needs to know more about transformation anyway. Once the spell is broken he has to guide the transformation on his own."

Stiles pushes himself up on his elbows. Boyd protests with a low growl, but settles down on Stiles's laps. "Ooh, is this the opening of Derek's magic school? I'd like to get sorted into Ravenclaw, but I've been told I'm more of a Hufflepuff. They never get any screen time, man."

Derek gives him an exaggerated eye roll.

"You've watched Harry Potter! Or you've read it!" Stiles sounds delighted, a huge grin plastered over his face. His hair is a mess, sticking out in every direction. And there's wolf fur on his shirt. Derek feels an overwhelming urge to smooth Stiles's hair, so he smooths his hand over Boyd's back instead.

"Laura liked the films," he admits. "She liked their magic system better. Even tried to replicate some of the spells and potions."

Stiles cackles, and Boyd laughs, too, as much as a wolf can laugh. It sounds more like a hiccuping howl. Derek suddenly feels a little uncomfortable talking about Laura. Sometimes it's easy to forget there's a boy in the wolf's body.

"Please tell me she had succeeded," Stiles says, giving him a comforting smile. One of these days Derek's going to get annoyed at him for being able to read Derek like a book, but not today, apparently, if the warmth spreading from his chest is anything to go by. "Accio, my cellphone?"

That would be a useful one, Derek muses. Sadly they've never figured out how to enforce will on something out of sight. Even with something in their line of sight it seems much easier to simply walk and take it than trying to pull it with air magic. "Making things float is easier. And brewing Dreamless Droughts. Potions are all easier."

Stiles snickers. "You are totally a potion snob, aren't you? You're gonna criticize every recipe because you can do much better in much shorter time."

As a matter of fact, Derek could. It was something he was good at, like defensive magic. Laura was the complete opposite. She was much better at offensive magic, and potions tended to blow up when she was making them. "I was."

"Oh." Stiles's smile fell. "You need magic to brew potions."

Derek nods. Stiles shoots his bracelet a glare. He has this look on his face that suggests he's considering punching someone again, furious on Derek's behalf. Derek probably shouldn't feel so warmed by the idea. "Chris has a thick skull. You'll break your knuckles."

Stiles lets out a startled laugh. "Hey, I know how to throw a punch."

"Not against magically enhanced muscles."

Stiles's eyebrows jumps up. "Wait, what?"

"They, the Argents, rely on physical strength. They use magic to enhance their bodies, but most of them have their weapons of choice. Chris uses sword." Kate preferred tearing up her enemies with bare hands, but she'd use anything to give herself an edge. "It's biomancy. It's how Chris helps your shoulder heal better."

"Huh, so they are the real battlemages. And clerics. At least Chris is." Stiles rubs his bottom lip with his thumb, absently stroking Boyd's back with his other hand. "Have you tried it? Healing."

Derek has, and it wasn't a pleasant experience for both parties involved. Laura's bone had to be broken again in order for it to heal properly. She forgave him easily enough, but brought it up as leverage whenever she was too lazy to do the laundry. "It's difficult. You need extensive understanding of human bodies. Chris went to medical school for that."

"Seriously?"

"He has license."

"Jesus." Stiles rests his chin on Boyd’s curled body. “Scott would like to learn that, I think, but medical school - ” Boyd’s eyes has drifted close. His giant body lays relaxed against Stiles. “I wonder what Isaac would be interested in. You are good at different things. Scott has practically adopted him, though.”

Derek’s interaction with Scott was limited, and after the whole Allison Argent incident, basically non-existent. Since Chris left town, he has been wondering if he should reach out to Scott, but he isn’t sure how. The last time they talked, Scott almost lost control of his magic.

That probably tells him he  _ should _ reach out to him.

“Scott’s just stubborn. He’ll come around.” Stiles yawns. “I’m working on it, but first, how do I leave this spot?”

Derek leans over to pick a sleeping Boyd up, but he lets out a whimper as soon as he loses physical contact with Stiles. Stiles quickly shoots out a hand to touch him.

“Um, oops?”

“He can’t follow you around all day.”

Stiles looks at him with big, brown eyes. “That sound he made, Derek. You won’t kick a puppy, will you?”

“By puppy do you mean Boyd, or you?” Derek sighs. “I’m staying, too.”

Stiles smiles, and Derek wonders how is it possible for the smile to spread warmth through his body when they aren’t even connected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I AM INCAPABLE OF WRITING ANGST AND ASSHOLES  
> Seriously, everyone I write just likes to communicate with each other way too much. Probably because I hate miscommunication in real life. This is a problem. Everything resolves (well, more or less) so quickly I don't even know where this is going anymore.  
> This part has to be done first so it's Derek's POV. Next chapter will be back to Lydia.


	7. Paths

Lydia wonders if Scott and Stiles make it a habit to pick up strays.

Their new friend sticks close to Scott, all blonde curls and pale skin. He flinches away from everyone else but gravitates toward Scott. The small, shy smile makes her wonder if she should have a talk with Allison. She and Scott are ridiculously sweet and affectionate to each other, but you never know.

Stiles follows behind them, looking thoughtful, one hand in a wolf's thick brown coat. He brings a goddamned wolf to school, and not just any wolf, but Boyd, best friend of the dead girl whose skull Lydia keeps in her bag. Lydia probably isn't that much better in terms of bringing questionable things to school. Boyd, at least, can somewhat pass as a dog if you squints hard enough and indulge in serious denial, but the skull in her bag is undeniably human and very dead.

"Why is Boyd with him?" Erica asks. She's wearing a black leather catsuit today, the fit cut leaving nothing to imagination. And her long blonde hair is now fiery red and at chin length. Ever since she found out she can change her appearance simply by thinking, she has been going through all kinds of different styles. Lydia has to admit it's fascinating to watch, and she might have left some fashion magazines open on purpose.

"He's close to Derek." Lydia doesn't like not knowing things, and Stiles and Derek are obviously the center of every mystery in the past three months. She didn't think it's worth it to get involved, but now that she is in, It makes no sense to hold back anymore.

"Stiles," she calls out, walking up to them. Stiles snaps his head up. His startled eyes find hers and quickly dart away. Both Scott and the boy are staring at her in different degrees of surprise. Lydia ignores their looks.

"Why is Boyd with you?"

"Oh, uh," Stiles glances down at Boyd. "It makes him feel better. We - Derek and I have tried to make him stay somewhere safer, but he makes this sad noise it's impossible to leave him." Stiles pulls his hand away, and Boyd whines, standing up on two feet to nudge Stiles's hand. Stiles snorts and puts his hand back on Boyd’s head, scratching his ears. "You're not supposed to notice him. No one has noticed him so far."

Lydia raises an eyebrow at him. "Explain."

"Derek has this potion that makes him blend in. He isn't invisible, but he deflects attention." Stiles turns to Scott. "Has it worn off?"

Scott shakes his head. "It's still hard to concentrate on him."

"Huh."

Lydia frowns. She needs to understand her ability better, now that she's one foot in the occult world. She knows she sees and interacts with ghosts in a way even a wizard can't. And now this. "You sure the twins can't see him?"

“How do you know about - oh, right, you were the one who told my dad.” Lydia arches an eyebrow. "I've used a small dose to experiment. They didn't notice me even when I was standing close enough to see their pores."

Lydia smiles a little. "Good."

Stiles beams at her. It's different from the smile he used to give her. What was tentative and nervous is now open and relaxed. She wonders what has changed. "Glad you agree with me. Derek almost nagged my ear off when I suggested it."

Lydia can barely imagine Derek saying more than two sentences in a row, let alone nagging. “Find anything?”

Stiles thinks for a moment. “Are you free after school? It’s easier to tell everyone everything at the same time.”

“Your house?”

Stiles nods. “It’s safer.”

“I’ll be there with Erica.” With that she turns around and leaves. She barely has time to think about what she is going to ask before someone grabs her and pushes her against the wall. She almost knees whoever it is in the crotch, but then she sees it’s Jackson. “Hello, Jackson.”

Erica floats behind Jackson, glaring at the back of his head. Lydia gestures at her to stay calm. She gets closer to Jackson instead, her expression the perfect demonstration of defiance.

“What were you talking with him about?”

Lydia doesn’t laugh, but it’s a near thing. Among all the crazy things that are happening, jealousy is such a mundane matter. “What normal people talk about.”

“You didn’t even look at him before.”

“Yes, Jackson, I’m aware of that.” Lydia leans forward to rest her head on his shoulder. The wall is not exactly comfortable. “But Allison likes him.”

“I don’t.”

“Why?” She puts her hands on his lower back, lips grazing his neck. He clutches at her back and then immediately loosens his arms, stuck between holding onto her and pushing her away. Moments like this remind her who Jackson really is, and she wonders if she would have left him without these glimpses of vulnerability. Everyone she’s dated she dated for a reason, but she’s never needed a reason for breakups.

“He trails after you like a lap dog.”

She rolls her eyes. Erica, being the only one who can see it, grins widely at her. “You are my boyfriend, Jackson. If anyone should be jealous, it’s him, not you.” 

“Jealous?” Jackson scoffs. “Why would I be jealous of him?”

“No reason at all.” Lydia pushes at his shoulders. “I’m going to be late to class. I’ll see you at lunch.” She pulls away enough to give him a deep, thorough kiss. The first time they kissed Lydia was surprised by how gentle he could be. Jackson’s words are meant to cut, but his kisses are the exact opposite. Sometimes she wonders if he is aware of it himself.

“The transfer students,” he whispers against her lips. “They feel wrong. Stay away from them.”

Lydia blinks at him, surprised, but before she can ask he pulls away abruptly and leaves.

“Your boyfriend is way too insecure for someone with a face like that,” Erica comments. “And I’m pretty sure Stiles has stopped following you like a love-sick puppy.”

“He has,” Lydia mutters. She really needs to find a better way to communicate with Erica without talking aloud. “Come on.”

*

There’s an uncomfortable silence when Allison and Scott walk in hand in hand. Derek and Scott are having a staring contest without meeting each other’s eyes. Allison is resolutely keeping a polite smile on her face. Isaac is looking between Derek and Scott with a frown. Stiles looks at the ceiling like he greatly regrets his decision.

Boyd, though, lays at his side, serene and content, and Erica’s taking advantage of the fact that only Lydia and Derek - either he is different from most wizards, or he’s a masochist and uses his Sight all the time - can see her. She’s now trying to mess up Isaac’s hair. At least some of them are having a good time.

“Derek, meet everyone. Everyone, meet Derek.” Stiles jabs at Derek’s side. Derek stops staring at Scott to shoot him a glare, but there’s no real heat behind it. It’s quite fascinating to see fondness and annoyance on his face at the same time. “He might look intimidating, but he’s not so secretly a big softie. He won’t bite even if you ask him to. Not that I’ve asked him, for obvious reasons. I’ve never asked anyone to bite me, actually, because, you know, I’m a minor and I’m not supposed to have sex. But hey, you are all minors, and I’m pretty sure all of you have had sex.”

Derek does a fairly impressive eye-roll. Scott’s scowl breaks into a barely contained smile. Erica’s outright laughing her inaudible laugh.

“I haven’t,” Isaac mutters. Stiles gives him a huge grin.

“My friend! Virgins solidarity!”

The room erupts into laughter. Erica is laughing so hard Lydia wonders if the lights are going to break again. Even Derek is smiling, albeit reluctantly.

“Anyway, I ask you to be here because there are dangerous things in town. It’s better if you know how to protect yourselves. First thing first, if you see an otherworldly beautiful woman, run like she’s herpes itself. Don’t talk to her. Don’t interact with her in any way.”

Erica floats to Lydia’s side. “Is he talking about - ”

“Yes,” Derek says. “Hit her with anything iron if you have to, but don’t do anything unless it’s necessary.”

Stiles looks at him curiously. Derek only shrugs. Stiles continues, “And, there are at least four vampires in Beacon Hill now. Not the sparkling vegetarian ones, but the murderous and blood-sucking ones. Two of them are FBI agents. The other two are the transfer students, the twins. If you bump into them, try not to draw attention to yourself, or go to a nearby house, preferably mine or Scott’s. They won’t enter any home without invitation, but our places are the most secured.”

Allison is hesitant to speak, but in the end she asks, “What about mine and Lydia’s?”

Derek stares at somewhere above her eyes. “Adequate, but Chris’s expertise lies in other fields.”

Allison nods. Derek looks away.

A soft sigh escapes Stiles’s lips, but he doesn’t comment on the stilted exchange. Instead, he picks up the bag at his feet and passes it to Scott. “One for each of you. It’s basically magical GPS. Plus, Derek will be able to detect it if you’re in danger.”

Lydia frowns. “Are we targeted?”

“They want to use me against Derek, and they might use you against me.” Stiles pulls his lips into a wry smile. “Which is stupid, really. They can use - ” His following words are muffled by Derek’s hand. Their eyes meet, and they somehow have a conversation through facial expressions alone. Derek lets go of Stiles when they reach an agreement, whatever it is. “Anyway, keep it on you.”

Lydia pulls a necklace from the bag. It’s a simple black chain with a metal coin as pendant. There are runes on the coin, but nothing she recognizes. She looks around. Allison puts it on after a moment of hesitation. Scott is glaring at it like he will understand the symbols if he stares long enough. Isaac blinks at the coin, and then he asks, “Did you bleed on it?”

Derek clenches his jaw without a word. Isaac hastily adds, “Just curious. There’s a little dried blood on mine. It’s fine. Thank you for doing this.”

“You’re welcome,” Stiles says. He takes a step to stand closer to Derek, their arms almost touching. “So, that’s about it. Be careful. Try not to stay outside at night. They are less likely to attack during the daytime.”

There’s an awkward moment where no one is sure if they should move. Then Isaac whispers something into Scott’s ear, and Scott flashes him a smile. They start to leave, but Allison drops a kiss on Scott’s forehead and lets go of his hand.

“Allison - ”

“I’ll see you later, Scott.”

Allison’s voice is soft, but final. Scott clenches his jaw, looks over at Stiles, and gestures at Allison. Stiles gives him a nod. Lydia doesn’t think it’s irrational of her to feel annoyed. Allison is so much stronger than they think. She doesn’t need to be coddled.

At last, Scott leaves, but not before scowling at Derek some more. It’s ridiculous to the point of hilarity. She doesn’t know how someone who loves so easily can hold a grudge so stubbornly, but she supposes it’s a good thing he still has a clear priority of who matters more to him.

“Lydia?” Allison asks. It’s not really a question at all, but Lydia understands anyway. It still boggles her mind how easily they fall into friendship. Sometimes, when Jackson’s being particularly difficult, she wonders what it would be like if she and Allison could be in love with each other.

“Go on. I just have some questions I need to ask.”

Allison gives her a smile and walks up to Derek, her head held high and back straight.

“This shouldn’t be your job,” Allison says. “My dad should be here to get rid of the threats. The Council should be here.”

Derek frowns at her without a word. She continues, “This is deliberate. My dad’s away because someone wants him to. I can get hold of him. He will come back no matter what the Council says. We can help.”

It’s clear from the look of Derek’s face that he didn’t expect the conversation to go this way. His first reaction, like every time he encounters Allison, is suspicion and wariness. “Why are you telling me?”

“Because I don’t know enough.” Allison pulls her lips into a wry smile. “Because I have made mistakes. Because you have been doing this longer.”

“Why should I trust you?” Derek waves his left hand at her, a deliberate move to show her the offending bracelet. Allison swallows, but doesn’t flinch.

“I can swear on my Name.”

Lydia almost opens her mouth at this point. Allison doesn't need Derek's trust. She doesn't owe him the leverage. She hasn't done anything to him. Allison knows that, though, Lydia is sure of it, so she stays silent.

"Don't," Derek says in the end. Lydia feels herself relaxing. Stiles, she notices, doesn't even seem slightly surprised. "And don't tell Chris yet. He might be watched."

Allison worries her bottom lip. "What can I do, then?"

"Stay out of trouble," Derek says.

Allison shakes her head. "There must be something I can help with. There are... things at my home I don't know the use of, but you'd know. And if there are spells - I have better control of my magic than Scott." Derek's condition is left unmentioned, but from Derek's tightened expression and the dark looks on Stiles's face, it's obviously on everyone's mind.

"We'll need weapons to fight back," Stiles offers. "It won't hurt to let her help."

Derek's eyes are sharp when he looks over at Stiles. Stiles meets his eyes calmly with a small smile. They are, again, communicating with the most subtle of gestures and expressions. A jut of chin. A raised eyebrow. A finger gliding over the back of a hand. What does it mean, Lydia finds herself wondering. What do they mean to each other?

"Sunlight," Derek finally says, and leaves it at that.

"How do you use that?" Stiles asks before anyone can start agonizing, casual like he does it all the time. He probably does.

"Fold it into handkerchiefs."

"That sounds way cooler than whacking them with garlic bread."

Derek snorts, his face softening into a half smile. Allison's eyes widen slightly in surprise. Lydia can relate to her. Derek looks so very different without the perpetual scowl on his face. She's aware of his attractiveness, but when he smiles, there's such warmth in his eyes Lydia can't help but feel a little disappointed when it disappears.

"Thank you," Allison says. "Any preparation I have to make?"

Derek stares for a moment. "No."

Allison gives him a tentative smile. Derek doesn't smile back, but he at least looks much less hostile.  "Lydia?"

"I can see through your potions." Lydia starts without ceremony. "I see ghosts without trying. I see their memories. What am I?"

Derek narrows his eyes. "You look human. I don't see magic in you, but," he gestures at her neck, "there are something different about you."

Stiles laughs. "Dude, that sounds like a terrible pick-up line."

Derek shoots him a glare. Stiles grins.

"A descendant of supernatural turn mundane," Derek says. "There are ways for the supernatural, even gods, to become human. Sometimes they keep some of their characteristics and abilities, and pass them on. There might be someone like that in your family."

"Something or someone related to the dead," Lydia says. "Can it be recessive? My parents, as far as I know, aren't like me."

"It can, and it will get rarer for the traits to manifest."

"Anything I should start with in research?"

"I'll give you a list."

"Thanks." Lydia puts the necklace on. "Call me if you need information from me or Erica. I'll be staying at Allison's place."

Derek nods without a word.

"Last question. Out of curiosity." Lydia hooks her arm around Allison's. "Allison's dad told her not to use Sight unless she needs to, but you seem to use it all the time."

Derek shoots her a look that clearly says it's none of her business. Stiles shoots Derek a look that even Lydia understands as "we'll talk later." Lydia smirks. This town needs someone to look after its guardian.

"We'll keep in touch," Stiles says. "Because, you know, communication is very important."

Derek scowls at Lydia. Lydia chuckles.

She can grow to like them.

*

“I see what he sees,” Allison says. Her voice is so controlled, tight like it’d snap any moment, that Lydia springs to her feet and pulls her in without thinking.

“There’s this - hole in my chest. I think it’s my mom’s death. My chest is hollowed out, and there’s something black and acid inside. Vicious.”

Lydia walks her to her bed and topples them onto the bed. Allison rests her head on Lydia’s shoulder.

“There’s something bright, too. It’s trying to fight the darkness. It’s not losing, but it’s not winning, either. Anytime, I can become who I was before. I don’t want to be who I was. I don’t want to hurt people anymore.”

Her voice gets lower and lower, until it’s but a whisper. Lydia cradles her face and gently tilts her head back.

“I can’t see what you saw, but if you let me, I can see you, and you me.”

“You have to be honest with me,” Allison says. “Don’t hold back.”

Lydia smiles. “I’m always honest with you.”

The Soulgaze is anything but gentle, an instant connection like lightening strike. The pull feels more like a yank, and suddenly Lydia’s standing in a maze made of mirrors. All around her she sees endless reflection of Allison mimicking her every move. She walks to a wall and touch the surface, and the reflection suddenly changes. A younger Allison, maybe twelve or thirteen years old, hits a boy in the face and, with a viciousness that makes even Lydia cringe, jabs her thumb into the boy’s eye socket.

Lydia takes a step back. Very faintly, she can now see blood and lights splattering on the walls of mirrors. She follows the trail of blood and watches Allison crushing a boy’s heart with mere words, Allison hurting people with precision and confidence, Allison killing without hesitation or remorse. At the end of the road stands a stranger wearing Allison’s face. She wipes away the blood on her face and marches up to Lydia, crowding her against the wall, twirling knives in her hands like they’re an extension to herself.

“Are you still my friend?” she asks.

“I’m Allison’s friend,” Lydia says, and falls back through to the other side.

“Hello,” comes Allison’s voice, warm and amused. She comes into Lydia’s vision, an upside-down face smiling at her. “That’s quite an entrance.”

Lydia reaches out to cup her face. The wall around them flares up with warm light at the contact. Lydia finds her smile widening into a rare grin.

“I love you.”

There’s an explosion of light, and then Lydia’s back in Allison's bedroom, lying on her side on the bed, facing Allison’s warm smile and warmer eyes.

“Your soul is magnificent,” Allison says. “What have I done to deserve you?”

“Flatterer.” Lydia takes Allison’s hand and locks their fingers together. “Yours is beautiful.”

“Lydia - ”

“I know there’s a chance you’d become what you don’t want to be.” Lydia doesn’t know how she’d fit in with that Allison, but she never intends to find out. She believes they’d never find out. “We all do, but you won’t, and I won’t. I won’t allow you, and you won’t allow me.”

Allison chuckles. “You make it sounds so easy.”

“Because it is.”

Allison laughs into Lydia’s shoulder, and at that moment, Lydia falls a little in love, but that’s all right. They are both a little in love with each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh, I wish I have more time to write.


	8. Sunlight

Allison Argent greets them with a small smile and invites them in. Derek stays behind Stiles, watching she and Stiles talk. There’s something different about her today - her gait more relaxed, her smile less reserved. With his Sight Derek can see the cause of the difference: icy fire burning bright in her chest, fierce and protective. Her soul will always be a balance act, but the balance has been tipped.

He blinks back the dull pain behind his eyes. There’s not much that can change a person in such a short time. For the worse, perhaps. For the better? It’s rare. He thinks back to the ice armor around Lydia’s heart. Their relationship runs much deeper than he thought.

He wonders what his soul looks like now.

“Dude, did you just use your Sight again?” Stiles shoots him a glare. Beside him Allison purses her lips and looks up at Derek defiantly. Even Derek can read what she’s saying through her expression.

“Your head’s gonna explode or your eyes’ gonna fall off. Leave that to life-and-death situations, yeah?”

Derek snorts. “Let’s get started.”

“We’re so not done with this,” Stiles grumbles. “How do we start? I mean, she. I’ll watch and give moral support.”

Derek drops the bag he’s been carrying and pulls out a handful of handkerchiefs. “A window will do.”

It’s been a very long time since he last folded sunlight. It was, he remembers, Cora’s birthday party. His whole family were on the front yard having a barbecue. When the sun started setting, his mom dropped a crystal on the ground and lifted the tongs in her hand. He watched in awe as sunlight followed the wave of her hand into the crystal and the crystal glowed brilliantly. His mom waved at him and gave him an encouraging smile. Tentatively, he reached out to the sky and pulled. It wasn’t easy without a focus, but he could see trickle of light flowing through his fingertips into his mom’s hand. Then someone put a hand on his back and the link between all of them flared up. He tilted his head and saw Laura grinning at him, her other hand pointing at the sky.

“Has Chris told you about focus?” Derek asks. Allison nods and whips out an expandable baton. “Not for this. You need something you associate with warmth or happiness.”

Allison hesitates for a second before asking, “I thought it takes weeks to make a focus.”

Derek shakes his head. “A proper focus can be good for battle, but some magics are more about symbolism and faith.”

She pulls out a pen from her bag and shares a smile with Stiles. “So, even this?”

Derek nods. It’s an ordinary-looking pen, but the careful way she holds it suggests it’s anything but. “Point it at the sky. Focus on the sunlight hitting the pen.”

He thinks back to the birthday party. His arm aches in remembrance. There is such joy and warmth in the magic.

He misses it terribly.

“Reach out with your will.” He sighs, shaking away his thoughts. ”Imagine sunlight enveloping the pen, layer by layer. Imagine the ball of light getting bigger.” Slowly, very slowly, golden light begins to swirl around her hand. It’s wobbly and flickering, but it’s there.

“The pen means something to you. Let the memory play in your head. Let yourself feel. But don’t stop focusing on the light.” The light momentarily blinks out of existence, but she never wavers. When it appears again, it’s brighter and more stable.

“Wrap the handkerchief around the pen then pulled it away. Imagine the light being folded into the cloth.”

She holds the handkerchief around the pen and gingerly pulls away. For a second, nothing happens. Then the handkerchief starts glowing faintly. Her eyes widen in awe and a bright smile blossom on her face.

“ _Awesome_ ,” Stiles cheers, grinning from ear to ear. “Seriously. So cool.”

Derek wordlessly hands her another handkerchief and gives her a nod. She takes it with a tentative smile.

It doesn’t taker her long to fold another handkerchief. She has good control over her magic for someone who has only started training a few months ago. Her magic feels a lot like Chris’s - quiet, but sturdy.

“You’re,” Allison pauses, “You’re very good at teaching.”

Derek feels his chest tighten. He didn’t think too much when he’s telling Allison what to do, but now he realizes he’s been repeating what his mom had said when she was teaching him.

“He’s a magic nerd,” Stiles responds for him, knocking their hands together. “And I heard you’re a much better student than Scott.”

Allison chuckles. “He’s not so bad. He just learns better through trial and error.”

“Yeah, that’s why he set his blanket on fire in front of his mom. Way to come out of his magical closet.”

They watch Allison fold a few other handkerchiefs before Stiles announces he feels useless and Derek should start teaching him how to be awesome. Derek snorts and pushes him out of the room.

“Is that how your mom taught you?” Stiles asks him quietly once they are in the living room, observant as ever.

“Everything I know I learned from her,” Derek says.

“Legendary wizard and a great teacher. Was there anything she couldn’t do?”

Derek smiles a little. “Everything else.”

His mom was dreadful at all things mundane. Cooking, cleaning, even doing laundry. Peter, being quite an accomplished cook himself, used to mock her for that all the time, but he was as bad at everything else as Talia.

Pretty much all his family were terrible at living on their own. He and his dad had to do most of the chores.

Stiles chuckles. “Maybe she was used to my mom feeding her.”

Derek wonders how his mom was when she was young. “Maybe.”

Derek takes Stiles’s arm once they sit down on the couch. He’s been thinking about how he should help guide Stiles’s ability. It’s not the kind of magic with established rules and knowledge, so they’ll have to try and see what works. Opening the link will probably make things easier, but Derek is nothing if not stubborn.

“Feel it?” Derek asks, pushing a trickle of magic into his arm. “Tell me where the magic comes from. Be as accurate as you can.”

“Um.” Stiles worries his lip between his teeth. “Your thumb?”

Derek nods. “Hold onto it.”

Stiles puts a hand on the back of Derek’s hand. Slowly, Derek feels a little tug.

“I’m going to pull the magic back into myself. Follow it.”

Stiles trails a finger along the back of Derek’s hand, trying to track the flow of the magic. Derek slowly pulls his magic further and further into his arm.

“Let go, then find your way here on your own.”

Stiles frowns. “So I just - reach in? With what?”

“You’ve followed the magic into my arm, reaching in through your will. Now you just have to be more aware of it.”

Stiles stares at Derek’s hand for a few seconds. “I have no idea what I just did.”

“We’ll try again.”

It takes a few more tries before Stiles gains some conscious control over his will. He still can’t quite keep track of it without contact, so his hand is always on Derek. Derek didn’t really pay attention to the touch until Allison comes out to find them. He’s suddenly very aware of Stiles finger tracing his collarbone, then down his chest, leaving a trail of warmth on his skin.

Stiles pulls away like he’s been electrocuted when he realizes they have company. “Um, hey, Allison.” He clears his throat, his face red. “Everything okay?”

Allison looks like she’s trying to bite back a smile, but she’s not very successful. “It’s almost 12. Do you want to go get lunch? Or maybe order takeout?”

“Yeah, great. Derek? Don’t just shrug. That’s so unhelpful, man.” He still looks flustered, and Derek can hear his heart beating faster than usual. It makes Derek wants to both get closer and pushes him away. “Arby’s, maybe? Derek’s face can’t be helped, but at least he’s not wearing silk today.”

Derek jabs him in the ribs. Stiles laughs and bats his hand away.

“Arby’s it is.”

*

Derek really doesn’t think it’s too much to hope that they’ll be able to have lunch in peace, but apparently he’s underestimated how much the world hates him.

Something crashes through the window beside them. It’s only the table Allison quickly kicks up that stops the thing from knocking into them.

“What the fuck - ”

Derek tackles Stiles out of the way when the thing lunges at them again - a red? A blood slave. He clambers to his feet and swings a chair at it. It crashes into another table, screeching.

“ _Duck_!” Stiles yells. A wolf slams into the red from over Derek’s head then twists around. Allison pushes him aside when the wolf lunges, blocking the wolf’s bite with her baton. Derek pulls out his army knife and cuts the red’s stomach open before it can attack again.

A shout. The wolf’s sent flying across the room. Derek turns around and sees Stiles aiming at the wolf with Derek’s gun, panting. Allison kneels down beside the wolf, checking its body.

Very faintly, the wolf’s heart starts beating again. Derek gets to it just in time to stop it from tearing into Allison’s throat. Instead, the wolf buries its teeth into Derek’s forearm and knocks him down onto the floor, clawing at him.

A gunshot. Blood mixed with broken bones and brain matter splashed onto his face. Derek closes his eyes reflexively. Then the heavy weight on his chest was removed from his body. He wipes at his face and opens his eyes. Stiles stands frozen before him, staring at something on the floor. Derek sits up and looks over.

The wolf has turned back into a young man, with dead eyes and a broken skull.

Fuck.

Derek pushes himself to his feet and takes the gun from Stiles’s trembling hand. Stiles’s eyes flick to him then quickly dart away.

“Stiles - ”

Stiles shakes his head. Derek reaches out hesitantly and puts a hand on the small of his back. The muscles under his palm tense up briefly before going lax against him.

“This has to be planned,” Allison says quietly. “But do they really think we’ll be so easy to kill?”

“No.” Derek purses his lips, looking around the room. People are staring. A few of them look worried, but most of them appeared more horrified than anything. “This is an excuse.”

Soon, the police will be crowding into this place. Soon, the FBI agents will come. Deucalion Denton and Kali Jones will find some way to keep them in custody. All the witnesses won’t help if Jones gets to the witnesses first. Will they keep them in the precinct or take them in themselves? Either way they will lose sunlight and threshold as their defenses.

He’s not dragging anyone down with him. He refuses to.

He raises a hand -

“Don’t even think about it.” Stiles takes his elbow and holds tight. “We’ll get through this together. I have a plan.”

Derek raises an eyebrow at him.

“Just remember I’m your friend.” Stiles gives him and Allison a smile, tired but warm. “No matter what happens. No matter what I say.”

Derek frowns. He doesn't like where this is going. Stiles is being way too calm now. "You - " He can hear wheels screeching to a halt. Stiles suddenly snatches the gun from him, whirls around, and raises the gun at him, stumbling backwards out of the diner. Derek looks at him helplessly, trying in vain to decipher what he’s thinking. Stiles won’t hurt them, that much he is sure of, but there’s no telling if Stiles will end up hurting himself.

“Mr. Stilinski,” Jones says, coming up to Stiles from behind. She disarms him easily with a hand tight around his wrist. Derek almost jumps in to push her away, but Stiles mouths “don’t” at him. Derek stops dead and glowers at her.

“Mr. Hale.” Denton walks up to them with a smirk. “Ms. Argent.”

“Ms. Jones, Mr. Denton,” Stiles calls out, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “What, are you calling the roll? Anyone absent? Sick leave?” He pulls his hand out of Jones’s grip. She could have held on and Stiles wouldn’t have been able to break away, but she lets him. “I’m sick of your games, your world, this - ” He gestures at the diner, “This whole mess.”

“There is one human body with his head blown off, Mr. Stilinski, and you’re holding a gun. As far as the police is concerned, _you_ are most likely responsible for this mess.” Denton smiles widely, his sharp fangs on display. “We will question the witnesses, of course. There’s a chance you acted on self-defense. If that’s the case, we’ll do our best to determine if your action is justified.”

Stiles snorts. “Haven’t I just said I’m sick of your games? I know what you want. Let’s not waste our time and energy on procedurals.” He takes a deep breath. “You want a deal? I’ll make you a deal.”

Jones lifts his chin with a finger. “You acted very differently when I first talked to you.”

“I shot a man in the head today, agent Jones. It did wonders to one’s psyche.” Stiles’s voice is low and steady, but his hand is trembling when he knocks Jones’s finger away. “I’m not stupid. I know what you’re going to do. It’s better to salvage the situation and cut my losses.”

It is a dangerous game, using partial truths to deceive vampires. They’re not as sensitive to lies as faeries, but they are perceptive enough to pick up most signs. Derek has never been good at this. That’s part of the reason he despises dealing with the fae. He’s not sure how someone like Stiles, who’s helpless at lying in everyday life, can dance around the truth like he’s doing now.

A small part of him thinks that maybe, maybe Stiles _is_ sick of getting dragged into the supernatural world and wants to get out before he gets hurt - he already has, Derek’s mind supplies unhelpfully - but it is unthinkable that Stiles would turn his back on any of his friends, on Derek. Stiles never leaves anyone behind. That’s both his strength and his most fatal flaw.

“I believe we have much to discuss, Mr. Stilinski,” Denton says, laying his hand on Stiles’s shoulder. He smiles when a couple police cars pull up in front of the diner. “Mr. Hale and Ms. Argent will be held by the police until we sort this out. I’m sure they won’t cause us any trouble. You seem to be quite important to them.” He claws open the skin on the side of Stiles’s neck. Derek’s moving before he can think it through. Jones knocks him to the ground, her hand scorching on the back of his neck. Foul magic simmers against his skin. He growls and pushes at her. Someone fires a warning shot inches away from his head.

“Are you done?” Stiles asks angrily. There’s no masking the fast and heavy pounding of his heart. Derek winces. He should have controlled himself better. “What are you trying to prove? Yes, he’s my friend. I don’t enjoy seeing him hurt. But the sheriff is my _father_.”

Derek tries to look up at Stiles, but Jones pushes him against the asphalt and someone slaps a pair of cuffs on him. He takes a deep breath. He doesn’t like leaving Stiles with two vampires, but getting himself killed here won’t help.

Well, in truth, it might; death curse is very powerful. But they have been through this before. He can’t hurt Stiles and the sheriff like this if there’s another way.

“Go, Deucalion,” Jones says. “I’ll catch up with you after these two are settled.” Derek closes his eyes and Listens. Two sets of footsteps stop. A car door is shut closed. Stiles mutters, “Fucking disaster.” The car starts up and speeds away.

“See what you did to that boy?” Jones whispers into his ears. “Now he can never wash the blood off his hands. It’s all your fault.”

Derek scoffs. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

Jones yanks him up and pushes him toward a police car. Allison is walking toward another, her back straight and her eyes hard, like she’s marching to the battlefield rather than to the gallows.

She is very much Chris’s daughter.

They most likely won’t hurt her, he thinks. Gerald Argent is a foul man, but he is a proud man protective of the traditions of the Argents, and Chris commands a great deal of respect in the White Council. Whoever made the deal with these vampires is unlikely to risk drawing the Council’s attention just to get to Derek.

Sitting in the car, he wonders what Stiles is planning, and what he has to do to keep everyone alive.

*

“De - Can I call you Derek?” Allison asks. They’re in their respective holding cells, separated by a thin wall Derek can probably break with bare hands. There are two officers standing guard. He can See a faint trace of magic around their necks. They’re not completely enthralled, but they’re put under some kind of suggestion. He closes his eyes and tries to reach for the link between him and Stiles, but he can’t get through to him. Stiles, infuriating and too smart for his own good, has somehow figure out how to block the link from his end.

Derek can deduce the reasoning easily enough; it is dangerous to have the link open with Jones around. Still, it doesn’t mean he have to like it.

“Yes.”

“Derek,” Allison says, her voice a little uncertain, like she’s not sure she has the right to use his name even though Derek has just given her his permission. “I’m bad at waiting.”

Derek isn’t good at that himself. Helplessness makes him angry.

“It’d been almost two hours,” she says. “One hour and 56 minutes.”

Derek doesn’t have a watch, and it feels like much longer time has passed, but he knows Chris can do the same thing, counting accurately for hours, down to the seconds. “Your father taught you well.”

There is a moment of silence. “It’s one of the first things he taught me, after he’d trained me to keep my heartbeats steady.” She snorts. “I’m not sure how, but I’m convinced he keeps his heart rate at 60 times a minute just so it’d be easier to calculate the time.”

Derek remembers his mom saying the same thing. Her relationship with the Council was always strained, but she held some degree of grudging respect for Chris. _You won’t find a more disciplined man_ , his mom said. _But he has no sense of humor._

“I wouldn’t be surprised.”

Allison chuckles. Derek realizes it’s the first time they actually have a conversation. It’s easier when he can’t see her, can’t see Kate in her. It helps that she now looks different in his Sight.

“You look different,” he suddenly says. He’s not sure why he’s telling her this, but maybe it’ll help. Maybe she’s not destined to go on the same path as her aunt. “Your soul changed. It doesn’t happen often.”

“For the better, I hope.” She lets out a short self-deprecating laugh. “Although better doesn’t mean good.”

“It doesn’t,” Derek agrees. It’s odd to realize just how similar their fear might be. He has never been capable of cruelty, but that never stops him from being destructive. A source of danger, always, for those they care about.

“Thank God for meddling friends.”

Derek snorts. “I doubt Him has anything to do with this.”

He suddenly feels a sharp pain at the back of his head. Gasping, he squeezes his eyes shut and tries to concentrate. Someone is trying to destroy the pendant he gave Stiles. He grasps for the straw of connection. They’re moving. Most likely in a car. Cold malicious magic hits the pendant and crawls along his will. He pulls away and servers his tie with the pendant.

“Derek?”

He lets out a shuddering breath. It’s not that easy to destroy, he reminds himself. It took years for him and Laura to make the pendant. They’ve made sure nothing short of the strongest fae magic will be able to destroy it. He know, however, he’s lost the only way he can to track Stiles, as long as Stiles keeps shutting him out.

“Derek, are you alright?”

He growls in frustration. “Just what the hell is he thinking? Why did he have to stick his neck out for someone like - ” me. He stops before he can reveal more than he should. The guards are watching them, their eyes intent and focused. Derek knocks his head against the wall. “I’m going to kill him.”

Allison makes a disapproving sound. “He did what he thought was best.”

Derek can’t deny that, but Stiles really has no self-preservation instinct.

 _Neither do you_ , the Stiles in his head retorts.

He checks in on the other rudimentary necklaces he’s made. Scott and the young Lahey boy are together. The sheriff is driving somewhere at an alarmingly high speed. Boyd is in his room. Lydia Martin is -

Well, right in this building.

He frowns. What is she doing here?

“Hello, Jay. Raymond.”

Derek snaps his attention to the stairs. Donnelly greets the two guards and walks over to the cells. The shorter guard stops him with an arm.

“Easy, buddy. Ms. Argent here is being released. Her lawyer made an excellent case.” Donnelly turns to Allison with a smile. “Is Ms. Martin interested in law enforcement? She will make an excellent officer.”

“I don’t think she plans on joining, no,” Allison says, a little dazed.

“Pity.” Donnelly waves his hand at the guards. “What are you waiting for? Let her out before we cause a national scandal.”

“Agent Jones said - ”

“If she wants to keep her locked up she will go through the legal procedure like everyone else does,” Donnelly snaps. “Being an FBI agent doesn’t exempt them from following the rules. Do we need to send you two back to training?”

The guards look at each other. The trail of magic loosens its hold once they start questioning the voice nudging their thoughts. One of them moves to unlock Allison’s cell.

She looks back at Derek worriedly. He shakes his head at her.

“Escort Ms. Argent out, will you?” Donnelly leans against the wall, his arms crossed. “Oh, and get a cup of coffee for me from that shop at the corner. Tell Theo I sent you. He knows my order. Get some for yourselves too. My treat.”

The taller guard frowns. “Both of us?”

“I’ll watch him. Don’t worry.” He pats his gun holster. “I know how to use this better than you lot. Now go. Shoo.”

They share a look again, both of them visibly shaking off the slight compulsion. Derek looks on, fascinated despite the circumstances. Vanilla mortals’ will react most unexpectedly with magic. It’s always surprising how much people can fight even without magic.

“Okay.” They guide Allison upstairs without looking back. Donnelly waits until their footsteps fade before approaching him.

“Now what have you gotten yourselves into.” Donnelly shakes his head. “You boys - and girl - sure know how to worry us adults.”

“I’m an adult.”

“Not to me you aren’t.” He sighs. “So, you were attacked by a _bat monster_ and a _werewolf_?” Derek points at the surveillance camera. Donnelly waves his hand dismissively. “Taken care of.”

“A werewolf and a blood slave - red court vampire gone feral.” Derek puts a hand on the back of his neck. “The werewolf turned back into human when he died. Stiles said he had a plan and went with Denton. I don’t know exactly what his plan is, but he’s pretending to make a deal with Denton and Jones. Probably something along the line of him helping killing me in exchange for he and his dad’s safety.”

Donnelly holds his gaze for a moment. Sometimes Derek almost forgets they have shared a soul gaze already. “Your indifference when it comes to your own life is frankly quite disturbing. Anyhow, it seems like they’re still trying to stay on the right side of the law, or at least pretending to be, which means they’re going to make it look like you try to escape or attack them. That will be hard to achieve in the station. We police are a nosy bunch. They’ll want to move you. Take you into custody.”

Derek thinks for a second. “Jones can wipe out people’s memory. Control people to some degree. Even completely take away someone’s free will.”

“Too much work. Too suspicious. People come and go in this station a lot. And causing a collective amnesia is just asking for troubles.”

Derek concedes his point. There are too many variables. “Still, if anyone’s acting strangely, they might be under her spell. Enthralling people without wiping out their personality takes time. ”

“Noted.” Donnelly looks uncomfortable. It’s only natural for someone who has just been told that mind control is a genuine threat. “We have some time before they make arrangement to move you. Ms. Martin has agreed to buy you some time through legal measures. I’ll also try to nudge the department into keeping you here. Technically the shooting in the diner is under our jurisdiction, not theirs. They’ll have to find or fabricate evidence to link you to Peter Hale’s case.”

Derek nods, his fists clenched. He should have thought of this. He should have stopped Stiles from doing whatever he’s trying to do. Lydia might be able to get him out. If not, Derek will at least know that he’s alright for the moment.

He reaches for the link and curses when he gets blocked again.

“Stay put, kid.” Donnelly reaches in to ruffle his hair and laughs when Derek glares at him. “Don’t do anything rash for god’s sake. We’ll take care of this. You’ll know when you absolutely have to break out. I know you can.”

Derek gestures at the stairs when he hears footsteps approaching. Donnelly flashes him a smile before retreating back to where the guards were standing.

“Here, Donnelly,” the taller one says, handing him a cup. “Who’s that Theo to you, by the way? He practically told us to order anything we wanted and he refused to take our money. You saved his mom or something?”

“I don’t kiss and tell, Ray.” He salutes them with his coffee. “Keep up the good work, gentlemen.”

Derek lies back against the wall and lets out a long breath.

He doesn’t look forward to the wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, um, it's been almost a year. Surprise?  
> I'm very, very sorry for having such a terribly sporadic update schedule. I have no schedule, really. I get stuck a lot and often don't know how to get unstuck. Having multiple WIPs has never been a good idea. I'm a terrible planner. But there is one thing I can promise, and that is I care about every story I've written and I'll never willingly give up on any of them. I'll always try to get back. I have plans for these characters I dearly love and I very much want to see them through. So, yeah. There's that.


	9. Blood

Vampires, Stiles decides, are creeps.

He’s not sure if he’s being racist - speciesist? - but all the vampires he’s met so far are giving out the kind of dark and dangerous vibe that parents warn their kids to watch out for. His dad did anyway, with a whole list of red flags that no one, so far, is able to _not_ trigger at least one. Derek, for example, fits half of the criteria if you don’t know him.

To be fair though, Stiles really doesn’t think wearing a leather jacket should automatically mark you as shady.

Deucalion Denton, however, is aggressively creepy. It’s as if he’s turning up the creepiness to cover up his creepy self, because no one can be this creepy, right? But no, he’s just as creepy, if not more, underneath his surface creepiness. The cut on Stiles’s neck is starting to itch. And when he scratched at the raw skin there, Denton grinned and licked his own thumb.

Seriously, who does that? Stiles doesn’t go around licking his fingers at his food.

It’s really hard not to think about how he’s food in Denton’s eyes.

He bites down a groan when he feels Derek reaching out for him again. Why does Derek have to make this more difficult? Stiles has been having enough troubles shutting the link down already. It’s not as if Derek’s taught him how the mark works. He can only think back to the emptiness he felt when Derek kept him out on his end and try very hard to grasp onto that feeling.

He really, really wants the link back. Or at least some form of connection to Derek. The pendant Derek gave him is just right there on the desk, but there is no way he’d be able to keep it even if he manages to grab it. His only consolation is that the pendant didn’t break under whatever spells Jones tried on it, and that they didn’t deem it necessary to confiscate the leather coat he’s wearing.

(He still has troubles saying it’s his leather coat and pendant. They are so Derek and so obviously means for Derek to protect him remotely, Stiles can’t think of them as anything other than extensions of Derek.)

He wonders how Derek and Allison are doing. He hopes they haven’t done anything reckless.

Stiles has done something reckless.

Jones snaps her fingers and he looks up, apprehensive. She smirks. “So, this ability of yours. Mind if I do some experiments?”

Yes, he minds. He minds very much, thank you. But he is the one using this as leverage. He supposes it’s only natural for her to want a demonstration.

“Fine.”

Her smile grows feral and Stiles wonders just what the hell he is doing. He was so convinced that this was the only way, but is it? Is it the best way? Is there really no option? She opens her right hand, palm up. A flicker of flame forms and stabilizes. He stares. Does the flame really look slimy, or is he projecting?

“Go on. We don’t have all day.”

He sighs and takes her hand - so cold, like a corpse. To think that no more than four hours ago he was practicing this with Derek and Derek was so warm, his skin soft under Stiles’s fingertips, his magic calm and quiet. He dares anyone who can feel what he feels to accuse Derek of being dark and dangerous.

He shakes his head and _pulls_.

Jones’s eyes widen a little when the flame disappears from her hand. She flexes her fingers. Stiles can feel her trying to fight the pull. He holds on, feeling waves and waves of cold and lifeless energy flows into him. It chills him to the bones. Her magic doesn’t feel as vicious as Kate Argent’s, but it’s no less terrifying. It settles under his skin and sucks the warmth out of his blood.

He pulls away with a shudder.

"Interesting. Very interesting." Jones pulls out a vial of red liquid - blood, most likely - and pours out a little on her palm. "Now, would you be able to stop this?"

"What - who's blood is it?"

Jones hums. "A lovely girl. You don't want her to die from an undiagnosed heart attack, do you? That'd be terribly tragic."

Stiles glares at her. "No collaterals. It's part of the deal.”

"But how would I know if you could stop Hales's death curse otherwise?" Stiles wants to punch that smirk off her cold dead face. "Fine. I'd only give her rashes for a day. How about that?"

"Non-lethal."

“It’d be quite the achievement if I can make rashes lethal. Now, shall we start?”

Curses are tricky. The magic doesn’t rush out the way it does with offensive spells. It finds a link to the victim through the medium the castor uses and goes out from there. Stiles doesn’t know if it’s possible for him to stop the curse from reaching the victim once it’s already formed; it’s probably easier to stop any magic from reaching the medium. Well, definitely not easy in any way, but he can manage with enough desperation and stubbornness, both of which he have in spades.

He shudders again when her magic rushes into him. He needs a bath. Or at least a very hot shower.

"You know, if I could be sure that your ability would not be destroyed along the way, I would have enthralled you or let Deucalion turn you already. You'd be an invaluable asset."

Stiles rolls his eyes. "Thanks for stating the obvious. Now do we have a deal or not?"

She smiles. "If only you could give up those pesky human emotions. I like you much better than the imbeciles I work with."

"I think the fact you called emotions pesky proves that you aren't very smart. I won't even be here at all if not for those emotions."

Her smile widens. "We have a deal. You'll have to stay in our custody until we finish making our arrangement, of course. I'm sure your school won't mind."

"And are you going to take responsibility when my grades suffer?"

"I'm sure you can catch up."

"Your confidence in my intelligence is appreciated, but very misguided."

She looks delighted. Good to know he is entertaining even for a vampire who has lived for who knows how long.

"I'm going to take care of some business." She takes out a pair of handcuffs and cuffs him to the bed. This really isn't how he imagines his first time getting handcuffed to the bed goes. "Behave."

"Do you really have to use handcuffs? I bruise very easily, you know." He shakes his wrists. "Can't you just use magical binding?"

She smirks. "Nice try, but no." She says before walking out of the door. Stiles slumps onto the bed. What now? Jones and Denton will try to make it look like Derek attack them first, he's sure. Their human identities still have values to them. Probably during transport. Or they might bring Derek into their custody. He'll need Derek to act like he's betrayed and angry. Better yet if Derek tries to attack him. That way Jones and Denton will have to try to protect Stiles and keep Derek under control without killing him. They'll be distracted.

He can probably take out Denton if his theory is right.

He thinks Denton is blind.

It's subtle, but Denton reacted to things before he saw them. And he could focus his eyes at the right direction most of the time, but he didn't react at all when Stiles deliberately looked over his shoulders and pretended he saw something. Most people would have turned to see what's happening, or at least feel the urge to do so.

_Give the darkness a taste of light_ , the fae told Derek. Stiles wonders if the message has always been meant for him.

He just hopes Derek can somehow come to the same conclusion and keep up the charade. He stares at his lower stomach. Maybe he shouldn't leave it to Derek. Or he might just lay there and let the vampires kill him while Stiles watches in horror.

It's now or never. He stops trying to keep the link shut.

All at once, Derek's worry and anger flood into him. It's so familiar Stiles feels his eyes welling up. He sits up a little and curls his legs up as best as he can, feeling the mark flares up against his thighs, warm and comforting. He swallows down a sob and presses his face against his knees.

A... presence pops up at the edge of his mind. It sends something to him. Not quite a voice, but somehow Stiles can understand it as an inquiry. Something about body. He closes his eyes and lets his mind be pulled closer and closer to the other presence. Instinctively he just knows it's Derek. Derek wants to know if he's hurt.

He shakes his head without really moving. It's an odd feeling. He wants to tell Derek about his plan, but finds that he can't really form words, let alone complete sentences. This is a place of feelings and unprocessed thoughts. He has to let Derek pieces it together himself.

He tries to get himself back to the mindset of a few minutes ago when he was thinking about the plan. Did Derek see it? Does he understand?

Oh, he understands alright. Derek's pissed.

He's angry at Stiles for taking the risk. He's angry at himself for letting him. He's angry that this threat has to happen at all. After the overwhelming anger comes the bone-deep fear. What if things don't work out the way they want? What if people die again because of him? What if he loses this one place where he dares to think he belongs in?

Stiles can't stop his tears from falling. It's annoying just how much he cries ever since he met Derek. His own emotions he's learned to handle a long time ago, but Derek's always hit him where it hurts the most. He sighs, trying to think back to the few times they've hugged and push the image to Derek. It'd be like a mental hug, he hopes. Derek probably can't get anyone to hug him while he's in the holding cell, and he deserves to be hugged frequently.

A hint of amusement bubbles up to the surface of their shared mind. Stiles knows he's succeeded.

Faintly, he hears the door unlocked. Stiles almost doesn't recognize the sound. They pull away from each other so suddenly Stiles gets an emotional whiplash. It feels like someone pulls out a chunk of his heart. The feeling of emptiness leaves him gasping for air.

"Stiles?"

He recognizes the voice, he thinks. His mind is too hazy for him to pinpoint who it is. Wide hands settle on his knees and he kicks out without thinking. The man blocks his legs but doesn't hold him down. "Stiles! Calm down. I'm Scott's father."

Stiles squeezes his eyes shut and lets out a deep breath before looking up at the man. It is indeed Scott's father, or "the asshole who made both Melissa and Scott cry", as Stiles likes to call him in his head.

"Hello."

Mr. McCall stares at his tears-streaked face, then at his handcuffed wrists. "Did they hurt you?"

"Um, not really. Didn't even push me down the stairs." Stiles winces. He really shouldn't antagonize the only person from the agency that may be sympathetic to him. He's just so used to cursing the man the words sort of fall out of his mouth.

"Haven't changed a bit, I see." Mr. McCall reaches for his wrists and studies the handcuffs for a moment. He then pulls out a set of keys from his pocket and unlocks the handcuffs on his second try. "Now, are you going to tell me what the hell happened?"

"What, your FBI buddies didn't tell you?" Stiles smoothes a thumb over the marks on his wrists. This really is going to bruise later. "Where do I even start?"

"I'm under the impression that they don't want me tagging along very much."

"Can't imagine why."

"Stiles."

"Alright, alright." Stiles wipes at his face with the back of his hand. "We were attacked in Arby's. It was a mess. I shot someone to save someone. Agent Jones and agent Denton showed up. We were arrested. I was carted off to this hotel."

The room fell silent. Mr. McCall leveled him with a glare. "That's it?"

"What else do you want me to say? That it's fucking traumatizing? I'm fucking traumatized."

"Why you are here when your two other friends are at the station will be a good start."

"Hell if I know. Maybe they want to avoid us three from talking. Maybe they think I have something to do with Peter Hale's case."

"Do you?"

Stiles groans. "I'm flattered that you think I'd be able to make someone's heart explode by looking at them long enough, but no."

Mr. McCall sits down on the edge of the bed. "So, you shot a man today to save Derek Hale."

Stiles would really like to not think about it. He doesn’t want to remember the splatter of blood and brain and the metallic smell. The man's dead eye and the heavy weight of Derek's gun in his hand.

He didn't hesitate. Not for even a split second.

"None of your attackers were armed. The force you used might be considered excessive even if you can plea self-defense. It doesn't look good."

Stiles wonders what they did to the witnesses. Did Jones just wipe their memories? Or did she alter them? Could she really have done that to everyone in such a short time?

"Isn't their any surveillance footage?"

Mr. McCall frowns. "No. It's all wiped out. And there are defensive wounds on both Allison Argent and Derek Hale. Something's not right here."

Stiles snorts. "No shit."

Mr. McCall grabs him by the shoulders. "I'm helping you here, Stiles. I need you to tell me the truth. What the hell happened in the diner?"

"You won't believe me."

"Try me."

Stiles purses his lips. "The man I shot was a werewolf."

The hands on his shoulders tighten and Stiles finds himself crowded against the headboard. "The truth."

"Told you you wouldn't believe me." He pushes at Mr. McCall's hands. "Let go. You're hurting me."

Mr. McCall pulls away and takes a deep breath. "Let's say you were telling the truth. Where do I look for the evidence? How do I prove you are under legitimate threats?"

"You are asking me? Seriously?"

"I'll take all the information I can get."

"Okay. Weird, but okay." Stiles scratches his head. They will need some way to clear their name after the vampires are dealt with. It won't hurt to have an FBI agent on their side. Besides, sending Mr. McCall down one way is better than letting him going around blind. There's no telling who he'd cross path with. "Some of these are pure speculations. They might not be the right way to go. But well, it's worth a shot. First off, the witnesses. Their testimonies are likely to be either unnaturally clear and consistent, or oddly fuzzy. If you pressure them about the details, they might be too confident, or they might start acting like they're physically-ill."

Mr. McCall is actually taking notes. With a pen on a notepad. How is this his life.

"Our attackers broke the diner's windows to get in. There might be some evidence suggesting that the force was greater than any human could do without weapons. You might also find signs of slashing attacks on the seats or the floor. Like the defensive wounds on Derek and Allison. Our seats were the second table on the right hand side right after you got into the diner. Also, there should be a dent on the left wall. There might be traces left by, well, some kind of animal."

"You don't sound very sure."

Stiles throws him a side glance. "Who knows if the crime scene has been compromised? I'm suggesting pretty unbelievable possibilities. At this point I won't rule out anything." He shakes his head. “You might also want to snoop around the cemetery. Look up Erica Reyes’s, Vernon Boyd’s, and Alicia Boyd’s disappearances.”

Mr. McCall hold his gaze for a moment. "Alright." He tucks his notepad in his chest pocket. "You need anything?"

"A hug from my dad would be nice, but obviously you can't give me that."

He looks unsure if this is another dig. Honestly Stiles isn't exactly sure either. "No, I can't. But your father sent his regards. Said he'd feed the dog while you're here."

Stiles snorts. Subtle. "Thanks. Tell him to take care and eat his veggies. I'll be out in no time, so he better not clog his heart with bacon and cheeseburgers."

Mr. McCall nods. Right when he's about to leave the door slams open and Denton and Jones stride in. They don't look very happy.

"McCall," Jones calls out when she sees him. Stiles notices Denton making a sharp turn to stop himself from knocking into Mr. McCall. Stiles is more and more convinced that he's blind. "I see you've gotten familiar with our suspect here. You uncuffed him?"

Mr. McCall flashes them a smile that doesn't reach his eyes. "Didn't see the need. He came with you voluntarily. And I have a gun. Besides, I'm not cleaning up the mess if he has to pee."

It's very weird to hear the word pee from the mouth of someone who has changed your diapers.

"Charming," Denton says. "I'm sure you'd take full responsibility if something had happened to the suspect. Like you took responsibility of your son's injury all those years ago. Oh, I forgot, _you never did_."

Stiles shakes his head slightly when Mr. McCall glances at him with a stricken look on his face. Denton lets out a harsh laugh.

"Don't look so surprised. People talk in the hospital. It's not hard to get some answers out of them - "

"Enough, Deucalion. This is not what we're here for." Jones puts a hand on his shoulder, her fingers digging into his muscle. "It seems that we can't keep you here for much longer. You'll be transferred to BHPD's capable hands tomorrow. Separated from Derek Hale, of course. We'll keep in touch."

Stiles opens his mouth then promptly closes it. Best not to provoke them any further.

"That's why you should have followed the SOP, agent Denton. Save us the trouble of shuffling people around." Mr. McCall, apparently, didn't get the memo. He continues, "We're here for Peter Hale's case. Do you have any idea how much time we've wasted?"

For one moment Denton's face seems to collapse into itself. Stiles blinks and he looks normal again. Pissed, but normal.

"I'm in charge of this investigation, McCall," Denton says with false calm. "I see a connection between the diner case and Peter Hale's case. And I did put you in charge of Peter's old murders, didn't I? If there's a lack of progress, it's on you."

Mr. McCall gives him a serene smile. "Of course."

Stiles almost laughs at the put-upon look on Jones's face. He'd sympathize with her if she isn't a literal cold-blooded murderer.

"Now if you'll excuse me. I have work to do." Mr. McCall stops at the door. "Do return him to the local police in one piece. We don't want an all-out war with the whole town."

Stiles might hate Scott's father a little less now, but only a little.

The room falls silent once the door closes with a click. Denton is unnaturally still, his eyes unfocused. Stiles looks at him warily, backing away as subtly as he can. Then suddenly there’s a hand on his chest slamming him against the headboard and Denton’s face is inches away from him, his fangs bared and his eyes glowing. Stiles barely lets out a yelp before Jones wrestles Denton away from him.

“Holy mother of god,” Stiles breathes out. “Are you fucking kidding me? We have a deal here.”

Denton shakes Jones’s hand away. “I can make you _willing_. You will choose to help me. You will want to help me.”

“Deucalion,” Jones calls out in warning, her hand finding its way back to his shoulder. Denton shakes his head at her.

“Think about it, Kali. We have no guarantee that he won’t betray us. He’s useful to us, but who knows what he’s planning? I’m not turning him. Just let me feed on him. Give him some incentives to keep working with us.”

“No, no, no. That’s a terrible idea.” Stiles darts his eyes to Jones, who seems to actually be considering it. “No. I thought you are the sensible one! Talk some sense into him. This is _not_ part of the deal. I didn’t consent to being your dinner.”

Jones hums. “How about this. You swear your alliance by your full Name, and you’ll walk away bites free.”

“Do you think I’m stupid?” Stiles snaps. He fully intends to betray them; of course he can’t swear by his Name. And god knows what Jones can do with his Name. “We have a deal. You need my help stopping Derek from using his death curse.”

Jones grabs him by his chin and gives him an icy smile. “Don’t overestimate your worth, Stilinski. It’d be a shame to lose an asset like you, but we don’t need you. You might be able to make things easier for us, but we’re used to doing things the hard way.” She lifts his head up. “Now, your Name, or the bite?”

Stiles clenches his teeth. This is all going downhill very quickly. “Fine. Feed away. I have to warn you beforehand though, with my diet and schedule my blood is most likely going to be disgusting.”

“Oh, trust me, it isn’t. I can smell it.” Denton gives him a feral grin. “We’re both going to enjoy this.”

Stiles refuses to be afraid. He refuses to. Denton sits on the edge of the bed and tilts Stiles’s head to the side, exposing his neck. Stiles forces himself to stay still. He can feel Jones on his other side, silently keeping watch.

He holds his breath when he feels fangs against his skin.

It stings, but only for a brief moment. A hot rush of pleasure quickly spreads through him and he lets out a sigh. His feels drunk with giddiness, his body light in a way it hasn’t been for a long time. His mind is fuzzy, but he feels entirely unconcerned about it.

Denton’s still sucking on his skin, he thinks. There’s a wet warmth against his neck. Jones shouts something at Denton, but Stiles is too out of it to understand her.

He closes his eyes. The bed is very comfortable.

 

When he comes to it’s the middle of the night. Denton bites him again, and he’s out in a minute.

 

Morning comes and he wakes up _craving_. Denton smirks when he catches Stiles staring. “Remember, only we can give you this,” Denton says before sinking his teeth into his neck. 

Stiles doesn’t fall asleep this time, but he feels like he’s dream walking while Jones leads him out of the hotel, into a car. Cool fingers touch the bite marks on his skin and he shudders. Jones gives him a pitying smile.

Donnelly is waiting at the front door when they get to the station. By then Stiles’s head has cleared up enough to act normal. He’s lead to one of the interrogation rooms and someone brings him a cup of coffee. He drinks gratefully.

“Are you alright?” Donnelly asks. “They didn’t hurt you, did they?”

Stiles shakes his head. Donnelly doesn’t seem convinced.

“Your lawyer will be here in a few hours. You can relax for a while before she arrives.” Donnelly gives his shoulder a squeeze. “Don’t worry too much. I’m keeping an eye on everyone.”

“Thank you,” Stiles whispers. Donnelly smiles reassuringly before leaving the room.

His hands start shaking after an hour. Cold sweats break from his forehead. He doesn’t need past experiences to know what’s happening to him. He only hopes the police won’t notice and thinks he’s actually doing drugs.

Fucking vampires.

He lets out a deep breath and tentatively reaches out through the link. For a full minute there’s no response. He almost cries in relief when Derek’s warm presence crushes into him.

He’s swept away by Derek’s cold fury for a brief moment when Derek realizes what has happened. Then there’s a sharp pain echoing through their linked minds. Stiles scrounges up all the warm memories he’s ever had and just thinks about hugging Derek very hard. He hates how little he can do.

Derek vehemently disagrees and somehow, Stiles starts hearing a steady stream of heartbeats. It’s too slow and calm to be his.

He closes his eyes and listens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm alive and very sorry. Also I don't know if you can tell but this fic gets out of my control a lot.


End file.
